


How the young heart really feels

by shenanigans1414



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book/TV Hybrid, F/M, Fluff, Innocent romance, Let's pretend the age difference isn't that bad, Nothing smutty anyway, Then slightly less innocent, Until they become teenagers, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenanigans1414/pseuds/shenanigans1414
Summary: Circa Season 3, Gendry and Arya start...something. Don't ask him what, exactly, because he'd be too mortified (and afraid of Arya) to admit anything.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 39
Kudos: 246





	1. Chapter 1

Surprisingly enough, it was Gendry who started it all as the three of them traipsed around the Riverlands after escaping Harrenhal. Though he would have vehemently denied he was starting anything, if anyone had called him out on it at the time. But Hot Pie wouldn’t notice if he grew a new thumb on each hand, so he certainly didn’t notice Gendry embracing Arya as she slept and pulling her towards him. He was keeping her warm, he reasoned. And comforting her—she whimpered in her sleep sometimes, and she did that less when he held her. It’s not like Arya complained—in fact, she said nothing about it. So truly, he was just being a good friend.

He had less justification for reaching out and taking Arya’s hand at times when he thought Hot Pie wouldn’t see, such as when they took breaks or as they sat around their small fire at night before sleeping. He figured it too was comforting but honestly, he just _wanted_ to. He was amazed by her hands: so soft and small, yet capable of so much. He was amazed by the rest of her too, of course. So passionate, full of fire and fury, and incredibly caring. On top of all that, once you looked past the clothes and the dirt and the bad haircut, she was a pretty little thing.

It’s not like he wanted to fuck her. Granted, he was at an age where he wanted to fuck—desperately, in fact—but he didn’t think about Arya that way. (Though admittedly, he dreamed of indistinct brunettes with nice tits and nice arses and big grey eyes.) But with Arya, he simply wanted to hold her. He wanted to keep her close to him, safe and protected…though he had enough sense of self-preservation to never, ever tell her that. She’d try to beat the stuffing out of him for even thinking she was in need of protection.

He was fond of her; he could admit that to himself at least. And yeah, it might be a special type of fondness. He racked his brain trying to think of an appropriate explanation for it and all he could come up with was a word he’d heard some of the old women back in King’s Landing use: _sweetheart_. She was too young to be a lover or even to be his girl (even if girls her age were sometimes married), but he wanted Arya as his sweetheart. It seemed like something pure, something special.

So he kept his actions chaste: cuddling in their sleep, an arm around her as they sat side by side, handholding, and the occasional kiss on the top of her head. Amazingly, Arya continued to say not a word about any of this. He knew that she’d have no problem with letting him know if she objected, so he figured her silence was a sign she enjoyed all this, too. They still bickered, of course. That was a given. Arya wouldn’t be Arya if she didn’t spend a significant portion of the day scolding him, calling him stupid and pushing him around. And he wouldn’t be Gendry if he didn’t call her out on being a brat. It was part of what Gendry liked so much about her, her feisty attitude.

As one might expect, things got more complicated when they joined up with the Brotherhood. He felt awkward around the other men, worried they were judging him simply for being friends with her: she was too young, too highborn. But rather than stopping, he simply was more subtle. They snuck away to spar—he’d made her a new little sword as soon as he had an opportunity to do so—and snuck away to just be together. She’d watch him work if he had access to a forge, and if he didn’t, he’d watch her practice throwing the set of knives he’d made her. She’d tell him all about Winterfell, and he’d tell her all about King’s Landing. She told him of the tumultuous history of Westeros, and he told her of different types of metal and weapons. It was the happiest period in Gendry’s life, truth be told. Even if they slept on the ground more often than not and didn’t always get enough to eat. Because Arya _was_ his sweetheart, though she’d sooner stab him through the heart than admit it. And he’d never ask her to.

It was too good to last, of course. He and Arya were sitting under a tree one afternoon, her napping on his shoulder and his arm around hers, their other hands clasped together. He smiled down at her and gave her a lingering kiss on her temple, when he heard the crack of someone stepping on a stick. Horrified, he looked up to see the scowling faces of both Harwin and Lord Beric. Oh, seven hells.

The Lightning Lord summoned him with an angry gesture, and Gendry carefully extracted himself from Arya’s clutches, leaning her against the tree instead. She frowned and let out an annoyed whimper but didn’t wake. He slunk towards the two men, and as soon as he was within arm’s reach Harwin grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him further away from the sleeping girl.

As soon as they were out of earshot, he cuffed Gendry on the back of the head. Hard. “What are you doing, bastard? Have you been trifling with the Lady Arya!?”

“No, sir! Never! I…I…I’d never do that!”

“What are you up to then? We all thought you thought of her as a kid sister, but I never looked at my sister the way you were looking at her.” Harwin snorted in disgust. “Like she hung the moon just for you, you cocky little shite.” He cuffed Gendry again, then turned to the other man. “Let me thrash him, Lord Beric. That’ll teach him to lay hands on a highborn lady.” Beric gave no answer but glared at the young man.

Gendry’s head hung in shame, and he shuffled his feet nervously. “I, uh, I care for her. But I know she’s not for the likes of me. What you saw before…that’s all there is. Nothin’ more, I swear by the gods! And there never woulda been anything more, even if you hadn’t found out. I wouldn’t never do that to her.”

Harwin snorted skeptically. “Then why do anything?”

The young blacksmith let out a massive sigh and scratched the back of his neck as he forced himself to answer the question he’d been avoiding for so long. “Well…at first it seemed like we could die any day so why not? Just bein’ with her like this made me happy. I think it made her happy, too. And now that I know she’ll be goin’ back to her family soon and that I’ll hafta give her up I just wanted…I just wanted something to remember when she’s gone.”

At this Beric softened. “Aye, that I can understand. I can barely remember my first love now, but the rare flashes I get are a sweet torture.” Gendry flushed at Arya being his ‘love’ but didn’t try to deny it. “Just so you remember, my young smith, that it can’t last. And I know what Lady Arya’s like—she’s a wild little thing. She wouldn’t let you touch her if she didn’t care about you too. It’ll be better if you talk to her sooner rather than later.”

Gendry just shrugged at this. “I figure once she sees her family again, she’ll forget all about me anyway. No point in making her mad afore then.”

Lord Beric’s glare returned, though in a more paternal form than before. “I didn’t take you for a coward, boy. You need to make sure you both understand how things are. Am I clear?”

Another massive sigh. “Yes, m’lord.”

Telling Arya that he couldn’t, wouldn’t stay with her was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Even harder than not crying and pissing his pants when he thought he was going to be eaten alive by rats. When he told her that he wouldn’t be her family, his heart broke just as much as he suspected hers did. Although he knew it had to happen, he couldn’t let things end that way. He couldn’t bear to have Arya _truly_ angry with him. Something had to be done.

He found her later that evening, huddled under a tree. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and her face was hidden from him. The tall grass around her looked as if it had been furiously slashed at with a sword, and some nearby wildflowers looked like they’d been viciously kicked and stamped on. Her new Needle lay on the ground as if it had been thrown in anger, and Gendry’s heart clenched. She had to be extremely upset if she mistreated her weapon like that.

“Arry. C’mon, look at me.”

She didn’t look up. “Go away, you idiot bull! I hate you!”

Gendry winced, but ignored her. He knew she didn’t mean it; he knew what it looked like when Arya Stark hated someone. Instead, he sank down next to her and pulled her into his lap.

“Nah, I ain’t leaving till we talked some more. You need to understand why I’m staying with the Brotherhood. For real.”

She didn’t pull away from his embrace, but she also refused to untuck her face from her knees. “I don’t care,” came the muffled voice. “Do what you like. You always do anyway.”

He gave a sad little laugh. “You know that’s not true, m’lady. I nearly always do what _you_ like. But this time I can’t. I can’t come with you, I can’t smith for your brother. I reckon it’d kill me if I did.”

At that, she looked up. Although her face now displayed scorn and skepticism, Gendry could see the tracks of earlier tears and his heart clenched even more. “And how exactly would it kill you, stupid?”

He let out a sad sigh and pulled her closer. “I know you think we can stay the same after you get back with your family, but things will change. They’ll have to. Your brother is a king, Arry! A king at war. That makes you a princess. And he’ll need your help. He’ll betroth you to some lord’s son to build an alliance, if he hasn’t already.”

“Robb would never! And I would never consent!” She fairly bristled at the idea, and Gendry rubbed her back to try and calm her down.

“He’d have to. _You’d_ have to. Remember you told me your Tully words are something about family and duty? That means something. And I know that you’d do anything for your family. Even marry some stupid little lordling… ‘Sides, from what you’ve told me of your mother, I can’t see her being happy with you being…uh, friendly with a lowborn bastard. She’d keep us apart. That’d wreck me. And it would _kill_ me to see you married off to someone else, Arya.” He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “It would be too much for my heart to bear. Don’t make me go through all that. Please.” This was the closest they’d ever come to talking about whatever was going on between them, to acknowledging that they were more than simply good friends.

Arya was quiet for a long, long while. Then she too let out a sad sigh. “I guess you’re right, which is amazing because you’re usually so stupid. But this is stupid, too…I want to be with my family again, but it doesn’t seem fair that I’ll have to give you up to do it.” She growled in frustration. “See?! See why I hate being called a lady? Being a lady is so…is such a bunch of stupid bullshite!”

And Gendry just had to laugh at that.

They returned to the camp hand in hand, but also resigned. Gendry caught Lord Beric’s eye and gave him a curt nod, which Beric returned. Arya caught all of this and glared at them both.

As they climbed into their bedroll, she elbowed him in the gut. “I’m still angry with you, Bull. But I’m not going to punish myself by sleeping alone and freezing. You better still keep me warm like usual, or I’ll slit your throat!”

“As m’lady commands.”

She grumbled angrily but also settled down in his arms. He kissed her crown and inhaled her scent, trying to memorize the feel of it all before it was taken away from him forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The entire Brotherhood attempts to deliver Arya to her brother in time for the wedding but their timing is... unfortunate. Ass-kicking ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should warn you: This is HELLA different from chapter 1. Not only does it actually diverge from canon, but it is significantly less fluffy and much more action-y. But there's still devoted Gendry, crushing skulls in the name of love. And once we get past this, it can get back to sweet.  
> (Thank you thank you for all the lovely reviews!!)

Arya tried not to be angry when she realized the Brotherhood planned on collecting a reward for reuniting her with her family—she understood that they needed resources, and their organization was based on charity towards the smallfolk, not high born. Still, it felt somehow…wrong. That they viewed her as a resource, not a person. And that was her main complaint with all that “lady” nonsense: she had value if she had an intact maidenhead, and for no other reason. Never mind the fact that self-trained, she was a better fighter than half the Brothers.

She ranted about all of this to Gendry, who was of course too thick to understand. “If they’re returning ya anyway, Arry, why shouldn’t they ask for something for their trouble? Yer brother is a king, I imagine he’s got plenty of gold.” She’d rolled her eyes and reminded him that wasn’t the _point_ , stupid. And he’d given her that dopey grin that showed he was riling her up in part just for fun. So _she’d_ punched him in the stomach, just for fun. He’d merely laughed and pulled her in for a hug.

Lord Beric and Thoros were still working out the logistics of her return when they heard news of the upcoming wedding at the Twins. Handing over Lady Arya there would be significantly more convenient than meeting up with King Robb elsewhere, so it was decided the whole lot of them would head to the Frey holdings. Perhaps if they were lucky, they’d even be asked to join in the festivities. Although most of the Brotherhood didn’t care much for highborns, they’d gladly drink their ale.

The plan had been to arrive the day before the wedding, but with one thing and the other (namely, getting certain members of their party to leave the comfort of the Peach in a timely manner) the entire Brotherhood Without Banners arrived outside the Twins just as King Robb’s army began to be massacred in an ambush. No one noticed their presence in the dark or chaos, but they couldn’t fail to see the piles of bodies…particularly those of Robb Stark, his mother, and someone who had to be his wife.

Thoros instantly began praying to his god, Lord Beric sunk to his knees in horror, and at least one man wretched at the sight of the pregnant woman’s mutilated body. Arya would have screamed in horror and pain, but Gendry slapped a hand over her mouth, lest she reveal their presence. He quickly whirled her so that she was facing away from the scene of carnage (seven hells, they were hacking off his _head_ and laughing while they did so) and instead had her face buried in his chest, where she could keen soundlessly. Not knowing what else to do, he simply held her tight as he watched them defile her brother’s corpse and butcher his men. He stroked her hair and kept her upright as her entire world collapsed…again.

“We have to do something!” Harwin croaked, unashamed at the tears running down his face. “The men…they’re being slaughtered!” There were murmurs of agreement. Some of the Brotherhood might be deserters from the Stark army, but it didn’t mean they wanted their former companions to be killed.

“But there’s not enough of us,” Anguy muttered. “We can’t take on that many men.”

“There’s a whole bloody army there,” Lord Beric noted. “We just need to give them a chance. If we distracted their attackers….” He stopped abruptly at the sound of someone approaching.

It was a small band of about 40 men, the shock and terror on their faces revealing they were Northerners, not whoever it was that was perpetrating the massacre.

“We can help. We slipped away at the start, thinking to go for help. But there’s nowhere to go!” one man choked out. “The Frey’s men are some of those attacking us! Why would they do that?! Why would they kill their king!?”

No one could answer the man, but within minutes they’d worked out a rough plan. They’d split into two groups and approach from opposite sides, which would cause extra confusion. They had enough archers that they could start the attack from a distance and disguise their true numbers. Hopefully, their actions would be distraction enough for at least some of the Northmen to arm themselves and join the fray.

Although it seemed like an eternity had passed since they stumbled upon the attack, it had only been a matter of minutes. As he quietly barked out orders, Lord Beric pointed at Gendry, still holding a squirming, hysterical Arya. “Keep her safe!” Gendry just nodded in dazed confusion. Certainly he would keep her safe. He didn’t need to be ordered to do so.

Arya, bless her angry heart, had no plans in making things easy for him. Gendry had planned to stay safely on the outskirts with her, but once the Brotherhood was whooping war cries and jumping into the battle, she suddenly pushed him away with a strength someone her size shouldn’t have possessed. She drew her sword and screamed like one of those Wildlings she'd told him of as she ran right into the worst of things. Gendry reacted without thought, unslinging the warhammer he now carried on his back (per Beric’s suggestion, he seemed to be better with a melee weapon as opposed to a sword) and running after her. On some level he knew he would be unable to keep Arya from the battle, but the least he could do was watch her back.

And gods, she _needed_ him to watch her back since she seemed to pay no attention whatsoever to her own well-being or self-defense. Instead, she capitalized on her small stature by slashing at the back of men’s legs then skewering them once they hit the ground. Gendry focused on blocking all attacks that came her way and occasionally smashing the skulls of the men she downed so she wouldn’t need to kill them. Not that killing seemed to bother her in the slightest—there was a coldness in her manner that fairly terrified him (especially compared to her highly emotional state just minutes before).

Gendry was just acting but Arya had a plan. She took out as many of the attackers as she could, but she also seemed to be searching for something. He had no idea what it could be until he saw her dash towards a prone man struggling to regain his feet. His armor revealed him to be someone important. With a howl, she leapt at him and pointed her sword at the fleshy underside of his chin.

“Tell me what happened here!” she commanded. “Who killed R…who killed the King!? Who killed Lady Catelyn!? Tell me quickly and you’ll have a painless death.”

The man, idiot that he was, did not seem suitably intimidated by Arya and her small sword and only smirked up at her. With a hiss, Arya slashed and left him with a long slice on his face. For good measure, Gendry swung his hammer to slam less than an inch from his head. The combination was enough to make the man blubber and tell them everything he knew.

“Lord…Lord Bolton! It was him! He plotted with the Freys to betray the Starks! Black Walder slit Lady Catelyn’s throat, and it was Roose Bolton himself that stabbed the Young Wolf! The Frey’s were angry about King Robb breaking his oath of marriage. I…I’m not sure why Bolton did what he did. Honest!” He’d barely finished talking before Arya had slit his throat. His death didn’t seem altogether painless as he choked to death on his own blood, but Gendry wasn’t going to argue.

The name Bolton seemed to mean something to Arya, as her face quickly went from one of confusion to one of rage. He didn’t get a chance to ask her, though, since she was already sprinting towards the entrance to the castle. _Of course_ she was.

“Beric! Harwin!!” he cried desperately as he chased after her. “Arya’s headed inside!!” To take on the men who’d arranged the murder of her family by herself, for fuck’s sake. He only hoped that someone, anyone heard him and followed them to offer backup. Because as talented and angry as Arya Stark was, she still was just one girl.

Arya had pursued the sounds of ghoulish celebration, and Gendry had pursued Arya. She thankfully had not simply burst into the main hall but skulked outside the entrance, assessing the situation. Gendry could see that there were no women present, but there were still plenty of men reveling in their cruelty and betrayal…seven hells, the floor was fair covered in blood. Gods, some of that had to be Arya’s mother’s. There was an old man who sat at the head of the table who was probably Lord Frey; he didn’t know which was Lord Bolton. He _did_ notice the several armored knights who were scattered throughout the room, purportedly to offer protection to the noblemen but seemingly just as drunk as everyone else. Their guard was down, that was a blessing; apparently the news of what was happening outside had not yet made it to them. Not that Gendry knew what was happening outside—whether they had turned the tide of things or not. For all he knew, the Brotherhood was getting wiped out alongside Arya’s brother’s army. But he was too concerned for the young woman at his side to pay this much mind.

Arya, scary little thing that she was, had quickly taken in everything she felt she needed to know and drawn several of her throwing knives. Before Gendry could as what the plan was (if there was a plan at all), she’d sent three flying in quick succession into the room. One knife buried itself into the eye of the nearest knight, a second deep into the neck of a burly looking nobleman. The third missed its target, skittering harmlessly to the floor. There was a long moment before anyone reacted to the screams of the two victims, a moment Arya capitalized on by dashing into the room wielding her sword. And Gendry dutifully followed.

She focused on slashing at the sword arms of the unarmored men, some of whom were staggering to their feet, others who were stupidly trying to draw their swords as they sat. As no one was yet swinging at Arya, Gendry could focus his attention on bashing heads. He assumed Arya was focused on getting to the main table, but even with the element of surprise and the dulling effects of alcohol, he couldn’t see how the two of them would last for much longer. But as the very thought crossed his mind, he heard several _thwacks_ and saw a small shower of arrows fly into the room. Glancing desperately back towards the door, he saw Anguy and a few other bowmen enter shooting. And then came Lord Beric and Thoros, flaming swords and all.

He turned back just in time to see Arya dodge a sword thrust (thank the gods!) by dipping low to grab the throwing knife that lay on the floor. As she came up, she whipped out and sent the knife flying into the chest of one of the men seated at the head table…wait, had she thrown that with her non-sword arm!? When had she learned to do _that_? Quick as a cat, she did it again with what Gendry knew to be the last of her knives. He cursed himself for not making more than four. If they made it out of this, he vowed to make sure Arya Stark had as many knives as she could carry.

That was his last clear thought for some time as he guarded Arya’s flank and attacked those who tried to attack her. The floor was slippery with fresh blood now, and men seemed to be falling left and right. Arya kept screaming with fury and Beric and Thoros weren’t far away, their longswords doing more damage than Arya’s. But she seemed to make up for it with quantity, mercilessly tearing through the men like a miniature spirit of vengeance. And Gendry was always besides her, unknowingly a near-perfect replica of his father in his youth. With Arya’s short height, he didn’t need to worry about his warhammer hitting her and he swung it about like it weighed nothing, fueled by his rage on his love’s behalf. How _dare_ these people do this to Arya!?

He’s not sure how much time passed, but eventually his bloodlust began to clear simply because he’d run out of targets. He registered that Arya was kneeling on a man who was clearly already dead, repeatedly stabbing him with a knife she’d found somewhere and cursing him. So this had to be one of the men behind it all, then. He glanced around and seeing that there were no more threats (simply an astonishing number of corpses and a handful of their friends), dropped his hammer to the ground and crouched down next to her.

“Arya, Arry love. He’s dead, I think they’re all dead. You can stop now.” At first, she resisted as he tried to pull her knife away, but eventually collapsed into his arms, crying hysterically. Fierce killer she may be, but she was also a girl who’d just lost her mother and brother. He was impressed she’d held herself together for as long as she had, but once she’d started weeping properly, she seemed unable to stop. He held her close to him as the others mopped up, killing any who dared to survive the multiple wounds they’d likely received. Soldiers came in—suggesting things had gone well, then—and began to drag the bodies outside. The room slowly emptied and still Arya wept.

“Can…can you take me to my mother?” she finally whispered, sounding so much like a little girl that Gendry’s heart broke even further for her. He simply nodded and stood, cradling her in his arms and gently carrying her outside. He knew at some point he was going to have to try to get her to eat something, to sleep, but surely there was time for this first.

There were literally heaps of corpses, but there were also two neat rows with cloaks respectfully covering the deceased. Gendry mouthed “Lady Stark?” to someone and they indicated which mound was her. He gently placed Arya down, who crumpled to her knees and continued to weep. He fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to do. He decided to give Arya some privacy for her grief, knowing she’d call him if she needed him. He wandered towards a group of men that included Harwin.

“…not sure what to do with King Robb’s body,” the older man was saying. “He ought to rest at Winterfall, but I’ve no idea how to get him there, nor what to do with his lady wife. The other northern lords can be sent home with their men, I ‘spose. And I know there’s special funeral customs for Riverlands folks like Lady Catelyn, but I’ll be damned if I know what they are…”

“Is one of these the groom?” Gendry asked. The other men turned to him in puzzlement, and he shifted uncomfortably at their attention. “Just…this was ‘sposed to be a wedding, aye? Lord Tully was to wed a Frey lass? So is one of these him?” he gestured towards the other bodies. The men shook their heads. “Where is he, then?” Harwin just blinked at him a few times before quickly heading back towards the castle, presumably to find the missing lord.

Not sure what else to do, he drifted closer to Arya, who had found Thoros and was pleading with him.

“Bring her back! Bring her back bring her back bring her back!” she cried desperately.

Thoros exchanged a questioning glance with Dondarrion but knelt by the body and uncovered her face. Gendry couldn’t quite see what he was doing, but he heard the murmurs of prayers and thought he saw the priest actually kiss the dead woman’s lips. There was a tense few moments, but nothing seemed to happen and Thoros let out a regretful sigh.

“I’m sorry, m’lady, but the Lord of Light has other plans for your mother.” At that, Arya seemed to cry even harder and a hope that Gendry didn’t even realize he was holding was snuffed out. What good was this R’hllor if he couldn’t resurrect Arya’s mother?

Lord Beric clapped her shoulder, attempting to console her. “Perhaps its for the best, Lady Arya. I told you, this is a half-life I wouldn’t wish on your mother. And what would she find if we did bring her back? Her house betrayed, her husband dead, her sons all dead…”

“She’d have me!” Arya wailed, and Beric colored in shame.

“Aye, lass. I’m sure she’d be with you if she could, but she’ll rest well knowing you have many who care for you.” He gestured furtively to Gendry, who once again wrapped Arya in his arms. The Lightening Lord may have many skills, but offering comfort was clearly not one of them.

During the skirmish in the castle and the aftermath, Gendry hadn’t seen a single servant. He’d also heard tell that there were many Frey daughters, and surely some of the dead men had wives, yet there was no trace of them either. He wasn’t overly concerned about any of them, but he did want to find Arya a bath and a bed. Thankfully by the time he’d coaxed her away from her family’s bodies and carried her back inside, some of the other Brothers had tracked down some people who seemed to know about the castle. He couldn’t help but notice that none of them seemed terribly grieved by the loss of their masters—shocked, certainly, but not sad. Then again, what little he’d learned about the Frey’s made him suspect they were not honorable lords to serve.

A couple of mute women listened to Gendry’s request, and silently led them to a small chamber that seemed to be unoccupied. They brought in a bathtub and began to fill it. When Gendry went to give her privacy, though, Arya grabbed at him. “Don’t leave me!” she let out with a sob. Thankfully, a sympathetic maid fetched a screen and placed it in front of the tub.

“I’ll be right here, Arry. I’ll never leave you, I promise. I’ll be here the whole time. You just get yourself clean, alright?” At her request, he prattled the entire time the maid scrubbed at her bloody hair and skin. He suspected she wasn’t really listening to him, but just needed to hear his voice if she couldn’t see him. So he described how to recognize good steel from crap, and the intricacies of smelting. After what seemed an age, Arya emerged from behind the screen in a clean nightgown. Gendry quickly cleaned himself up with the leftover water, and enthusiastically thanked the maid for the clean clothes she’d scrounged up for him. The young woman seemed surprised at his gratitude, which only drove home his opinion of the dead Frey lords. She blushed and excused herself, and Gendry bundled Arya into the bed. She cried herself to sleep, wrapped in his arms. It was only after he was sure that she was unconscious that Gendry let himself cry, too. He wept for Arya’s mother, for her beloved brother, for his poor pregnant wife, even for the bloody direwolf. But above all, he wept for Arya and her loss.

The next morning, Arya did not want to get out of bed. But Gendry knew she needed to eat, and so he carried her downstairs. He was amazed to find that the castle’s great hall was relatively clean and full of people eating breakfast. Many of the Brotherhood were there, along with some representatives of the northern army. And there were many, many nervous women. They barely picked at their food and stared at the mysterious men who’d just slaughtered their kinsmen and seemingly taken over their home. Again, Gendry did not detect much grief or sadness, just confusion.

There were a handful of children, and Gendry suspected the oldest boy of about 10 years old might be the new lord of the Twins. Arya seemed to come to the same conclusion, because she wriggled out of his arms and marched over to the frightened Freys. A woman wrapped her arms protectively around the boy.

“Do you know who I am?” Arya asked, her voice flat and her hand resting casually on the hilt of her sword. “I’m Arya Stark. Your father and brothers and husbands murdered my family. They broke guest rights and betrayed the king.”

The women and children made no response, just stared at her like a bunch of frightened rabbits. “They murdered my nephew, too. He wasn’t even born yet. They stabbed the queen right in her womb to kill him. And her.” Some of the ladies whimpered at that, and more of the children were embraced by the womenfolk.

“Are you the eldest male now?” she asked the boy. He looked at the women, most of whom were his sisters, then gave a small nod. “That makes you the new Lord Frey.” Quick as a flash, she drew her sword, but did not point it at him. “I have every right to end your entire line, after what your family did.” She stood there for a long, long minute, sword in hand. The little lord quaked, and Gendry suspected he pissed himself too. Finally, Arya sheathed her sword. “I want you to remember always that the Frey family continues because the Starks had the honor your family lacked. Starks do not kill children.” This should have seemed absurd, given that Arya was barely more than a child herself. Yet all who listened were struck by the power and solemnity of her words. She leaned in and looked the surviving Freys in the eyes, one by one. “You should also know this: _The North Remembers._ Your house had better remember, too. _”_ The new Lord Frey nodded frantically, as did the rest of his family.

That speech and accompanying threat seemed to take the last of Arya’s strength, because after that she seemed unable or unwilling to move or even talk. She just sat cradled in Gendry’s arms like a baby, too shocked and grief-stricken to cry. She simply stared into space as Gendry stroked her hair and pat her back and whispered words of comfort in her ear.

Her catatonic state continued for days. The Brotherhood and other survivors seemed in no hurry to move on, not clear on where they should go or what should be done. Lord Beric and Lord Tully had sent many ravens, Gendry knew, and they were waiting for responses before further plans could be made. In the meantime, they rested and attempted to heal their wounds, both physical and emotional.

Gendry had to cajole Arya into eating, with limited success. “One more bite, love. You need to keep your strength up. That’s it. Come on, sweetling. Now have a sip of water.”

Lord Tully, still battered and bruised, frowned at all this when he noticed it at dinner their third day at the Twins. “Who is that with my niece?” he demanded.

Lord Beric answered without looking. “Gendry. He’s been with Lady Arya since before we found her. He’s her friend.”

“That’s what the girl needs right now,” Thoros chimed in. “A friend. She’s been through some horrors and she’s suffering. We’ve never seen her like this before. She’s a tough creature, your niece, but this was too great a shock for her. She’ll need time to recover. Aye, time and a good friend.” He nodded approvingly at Gendry, who could hear the conversation but was too focused on Arya to respond.

Lord Tully still frowned. “But who is he?”

“One of our brotherhood,” Dondarrion replied. “But if that’s not good enough for your niece, Lord Tully, we can do something about that. Gendry!” he called out as he put down his spoon.

Once he was directly addressed, the young smith could no longer ignore the others. “Yes, m’lord?”

“You seem to be acting as Lady Arya’s sworn shield, is that not so?”

Gendry shrugged. He wasn't really sure what a sworn shield was, and Arya didn’t really need a protector, they knew that. “Er…I 'spose, in a sense m’lord? But everyone knows that Arya’s a better figh….”

“Yes, yes,” Lord Beric said, cutting him off. “And as we all know you can’t be a sworn shield unless you’re a knight. So let us make you a knight. After all, you fought bravely here and protected your lady honorably. Come, come. Stand, lad.” Beric himself stood up and strode over to him, unsheathing his sword.

Gendry had no idea what was happening, but he also knew he couldn’t ignore orders from a lord. He gently set Arya on her feet and stood beside her, clasping her hand.

“Now kneel, Gendry Waters.” He did so, never letting go of Arya’s hand. Beric’s sword tapped him on the shoulder as the man recited the words that would change Gendry from nobody to somebody. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Ser Gendry, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

At this, Arya squeezed his hand, the first real sign of life from her in days. It was that, more than anything else, that made his heart soar.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain Starks assemble at Riverrun and manage to live a better life, while things elsewhere plug along the canon train more or less intact. (Large parts of this feel like exposition dumping, but I had to do it to jump ahead in time. Sorry for the awkwardness!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bonus mini-chapter at the very end that isn't exactly smut, but does address the fact that they're teenagers now. You could skip it if that stuff makes you uncomfortable. Still, it ends it fluff!
> 
> (FWIW Qyburn was also at the Twins and got his creepy ass killed. So he's not around to be Cersei's pet mad scientist, which will affect things in the future. Jaime still got his icky wrist fixed up but by an actual maester.)

As Lady Arya’s official sworn shield, Gendry was now included in some of the discussions about what came next. Not that he dared offer any suggestions. But it was good to know what was going on.

They sent most of the northern army home, given that their liege lords and king were all dead. The northern nobles would need considerable time to regroup, and hopefully Greatjon Umber (who had thankfully not attended the wedding) would take responsibility for future decisions affecting the region.

Some soldiers opted to stay with the Brotherhood, who were going to occupy the Twins for a period until a better solution could be found. The womenfolk and children needed protecting, and it was a good base for sending out patrols to hunt bandits and the like. Plus, they could generate income by controlling the bridge. They knew it wasn’t a long-term solution, since they’d found correspondence in Lord Bolton’s chambers indicating that Tywin Lannister had been behind the massacre. They hoped to keep the counterattack quiet for as long as possible, but news would eventually get out and the last thing Brotherhood wanted was to face the entire Lannister Army. In the meantime, life in a castle felt incredibly luxurious to the Brothers, and the surviving Freys were surprisingly hospitable. (It probably didn’t hurt that Gendry had chiseled ‘The North Remembers’ in large letters into the wall of the great hall after Lady Catelyn’s funeral, at Arya’s command).

As for Arya, it made sense for her to go with her uncle, who’d had news that Riverrun was safe in the hands of Bryden Tully. And where Arya went, Gendry would follow. There were no immediate plans to leave, as Lord Tully still needed to recover from the severe beating he’d received on his wedding night, and they were to be escorted by some of Robb’s men on their way back north once they too recovered. The bodies of the King and Queen would head north as well, to be held in a safe location until a time came for them to be laid to rest in the crypts of Winterfell.

In a strange twist of fate, a patrol of the area around the Twins had stumbled upon Sandor Clegane. Once he was brought to the castle Arya immediately tried to gouge his eyes out over what he’d apparently done to a friend of hers, some lad named Mycah. Gendry had to physically hold her back to keep her from attacking the man who was at least four times her size (gods, he just loved that about her). Instead, the Brotherhood held one of their trials by combat. Arya was outraged when he won and Gendry outraged that R’hllor would bring back Dondarrion for the umpteenth time when he wouldn’t revive Arya’s mother. Absolutely everyone was shocked when the Hound accepted Thoros’ suggestion to stay including, Gendry thought, the Hound himself. The Red Priest had seen something in the fire about Clegane atoning for his family’s misdeeds, and though the Hound called the man a stupid cunt it did seem to resonate with him. Gendry was even more shocked when the former Lannister man insisted on escorting Arya and her uncle to Riverrun and staying on as a guard of sorts. Arya didn’t want him there, of course, but after everything that had happened Gendry was happy to have such a powerful fighter with them once they left the Brotherhood behind. He’d heard Clegane talking to himself about ‘the other Stark girl’ and how he owed it to ‘the little bird’ to keep her family safe, so he figured they could trust the scarred man (even if he was an insufferable arse). As long as he kept his distance from Arya, maybe things would work out.

Arya had more than enough on her mind to distract her from the Hound, fortunately. She’d sent a letter to Jon at the Wall asking if she (and Gendry) could join him, not content at first to stay with her uncles long-term. Jon shared her grief over the loss of Robb and Lady Catelyn but told her that the situation at the Wall was too dangerous, that something was happening that might threaten all of Westeros. He wouldn’t be able to focus on all he had to do if he was worried about her safety, too. As much as he longed to see her and as much as he wished she could be with him, he recommended staying out of the North entirely. Arya was shocked at this and told Gendry that he’d only say so if he absolutely meant it. She worried for her brother, who wrote of Wildling hordes and something far, far worse.

She worried too for her sister, who was still a hostage to the Lannisters. When she’d heard that it was Tywin Lannister who had planned everything, her rage could not be contained. She cursed him, their house, and herself for not having Tywin killed when she had an opportunity to do so. Gendry calmed her down as best he could, but he knew that it was something she’d likely never be able to let go of. Forgiveness wasn’t something Arya did well, not even with herself.

As for Sansa, her great-uncle Bryden wrote to numerous contacts in King’s Landing to try to get her a message. She deserved to know her family was in part avenged, and that her sister was alive, but the last thing anyone wanted was for the Lannisters to know this. Gendry liked and trusted the Blackfish—he was commanding and competent in a way that Edmure was not. He’d also written to Greatjon, who revealed he had Rickon Stark. Hearing her baby brother was alive had made Arya so happy and excited that Gendry thought her joy might actually let her walk on air. The two older lords quickly made plans to get the young boy to Riverrun as well, agreeing that the North was no place for a Stark right now. From what Gendry understood, the lords of the North and the Riverlands had begrudgingly yielded to King Joffrey, though they held onto hope that this was temporary peace not a lasting surrender. Having no official heir yet, Lord Bolton’s keep of Dreadfort stood empty, his pregnant widow in the care of a family called the Karstarks. There were rumors that Bolton’s bastard son had tried to claim his father’s title, but as he hadn’t been legitimized, he’d been unable to do so. Ramsey Snow instead led a small band of marauders in wreaking havoc, and the rest of the northern lords were planning to put together a force to stop them. From what Lord Bryden shared of the man, Gendry hated him and hoped he’d soon be killed.

Among his other sins, the Snow bastard had sacked Winterfell and no one dared claim the ruins, though Lord Umber had sent someone to act as type of castellan to try to keep things running on behalf of the smallfolk and get repairs underway. Nor was there currently a Warden of the North, since that was to have been Lord Bolton. Frankly, Tywin Lannister seemed to not know what to do with the North but with their active rebellion over and his grandson’s rule facing more pressing threats, he seemed content to simply wait and see. The Tullys thought that should be what the surviving Starks did as well. After all, little Rickon was in no way ready to take over as Lord Stark of Winterfell—Gendry liked the boy, but he’d clearly spent a lot of time with his wildling guardian and was even more feral than his sister.

One of the men the Blackfish had written to in King’s Landing was a Petyr Baelish, whom he seemed to hold in complete contempt but also acknowledged was a born schemer. It turned out Baelish had a way to smuggle Sansa out of the city, and with encouragement from her uncles and siblings, Sansa had agreed to the plan. Lord Bryden worried about what price he’d need to pay this “Littlefinger” to get Sansa out of his clutches, but Arya was once again elated at the idea of being reunited with a sibling, even one she’d clashed with so much. And learning that Bran hadn’t been killed by Theon, even if they didn’t know where he was, was simply wonderful. Gendry was beyond pleased that Arya’s remaining family was gradually coming together at Riverrun, since that seemed to be the solution to the terrifying grief she’d been stuck in since the Twins. Having her siblings back gave Arya back her spark, which gave Gendry back _his_ joy.

The only downside (and Gendry hated himself for even thinking of this as a downside) of Arya’s mental recovery and their new home was that it left him with little excuse to touch her. Gendry had an actual bed of his own to sleep in for the first time in his life…a bed that was far away from Arya’s. And now that Arya didn’t need constant consoling, there was no excuse for him to carry her around and hold her. He didn’t miss the half-dead creature Arya had become after the tragedy of her uncle’s wedding, but he _did_ miss having her in his arms nearly all the time.

It was his clever, clever Arya who came up with a solution for their little problem, which gratified Gendry not just because he could resume contact with her but also because it was a clear sign that Arya valued their time together as much as he did.

“C’mon, Bull,” she’d said after they finished sparring one morning. “If I have to have lessons again you do too.” She’d taken his hand and dragged him inside to the castle’s library. Gendry knew that Lord Tully had arranged for tutors for the Starks, though they’d only consented to an hour of lessons a day. Given what they’d all been through in the past few years, it had seemed a reasonable compromise to Arya’s uncle. (Gendry suspected that Edmure was just intimidated by Arya, but he honestly couldn’t blame him.) Given this, he assumed that he was going to be roped into the formal lessons and dreaded revealing his ignorance in such a forum. But no one else was in the library when they arrived. Arya bypassed the tables and chairs for a worn looking chaise, big enough for two. She threw herself down and yanked on his arm to pull him next to her, then nestled herself until she was resting comfortably against him. She pulled a book from a side table that Gendry hadn’t noticed and opened it with a flourish.

“You told me you know how to read ‘a bit.’ We’re going to work on that, Ser Stupid. Writing, too. Now that you’re a _knight,”_ Arya just loved giving him a hard time about that. “You need to be able to exchange correspondence with your fellow knights. Which means you need to know more words than just ones related to smithing.” She turned the page to reveal that the book was a primer for young children, something even Rickon was likely too old for. “Read for me, Gendry. I’ll help if you get stuck. If this is too easy, we’ll find one that’s more to your level.”

Gendry had never much liked reading and hadn’t ever made much time to practice at it. But with his arms around Arya as she turned the pages and corrected his pronunciation, he found that he quite enjoyed it now. And he liked writing if it meant sending silly notes back and forth to Arya—he quickly learned how to spell a tremendous variety of insults and other nonsense, which was sure to be useful to him later in life. But it made her happy, and that made him happy. It was as simple as that.

Life at Riverrun was certainly different from anything they’d experienced so far; it was _normal_. Or at least normal for highborns, as far as he could figure. He spent less overall time with Arya, but he’d gladly deal with that in exchange for her having safety and family and routine. He saw her at meals, during sparring, and during their “lessons.” Lord Tully had been pleased to find that his niece’s sworn shield was also a talented blacksmith, so he spent the rest of his days in the forge. And after dinner but before they retired, they simply spent time together: going for walks if the weather allowed, back in the library if it didn’t. No one seemed to care or think it was inappropriate—Edmure was clueless and Bryden was apathetic. Arya confessed to him she was worried that Sansa would give her a hard time about ‘impropriety’ but it seemed like the older Stark girl had been much changed by her time in the capitol. She simply seemed happy her little sister was happy. Though they didn’t speak much, Gendry’s interactions with the redhead were always cordial. Rickon on the other hand treated him like an older brother and was prone to following him about like a puppy when Osha let him. It was odd, like having Arya be little Arry again, though with considerably less threats and violence.

Gendry was working in the forge one day, half-listening as Arya sat on his workbench and chattered (only half-listening because of the hammer and anvil, truly). She still liked to watch him work, and he liked to have her watch. And the sound of her voice was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

Well, it _was_ the sweetest thing until she’d started talking about bleeding Ned Dayne, of all people.

“…wonder how the Brotherhood is doing,” she’d mused.

“Hmm,” was all Gendry had to say. He’d wondered too—they weren’t in frequent contact anymore once they’d left the Twins and the easy access to ravens. They were back to traipsing around the Riverlands, seeking justice for the smallfolk and killing Lannisters.

“I wonder if Ned Dayne is still with them. It’d be good if they came to visit, right? Maybe he could stay for a while. That would be perfect.”

Gendry didn’t know whether to bash something with his hammer or well up with tears. Why would she want Ned to come and stay? They never talked about it, but he thought they understood each other: He cared about her and she cared about him. He knew she did. But maybe she didn’t care in the same way. And he was beneath her, he always knew that. And fancy Ned Dayne would be a much better match for her. They’d been at Riverrun for a while now, she was older, maybe she’d started to think about her future. Maybe living in a castle again had made her more open to becoming a proper lady. Made her want a proper lord.

He took a few deep breaths to try and calm down before saying, “Didn’t know you liked boys like Ned.” He kept on working like he wasn’t bothered in the least, not knowing what else he could do.

“ _Wha_?!” Arya exclaimed from behind him. “Of course I don’t like…Gods, Gendry, I like _you._ And Ned, he’s…he’s practically your opposite!”

Gendry thought that was a bit of an overstatement. They were both fighters (hells, he was a knight!) and Gendry could be nice like Ned, at times anyway. But he knew what Arya was trying to say. Which confused him all the more.

He turned to face her, aware he was making what Arya called his ‘thinking face’ (she joked that he looked like a constipated old cat when deep in thought, all furrowed brow and scowls). “Then why…?”

Arya rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. She kicked out at him from where she sat on his workbench, getting him hard in his side. “Honestly! You can’t not listen to me and then get mad because you didn’t hear me say something. I don’t want Ned to visit for _me._ I _was_ telling you about how Sansa is lonely, but I guess you missed that part!”

“Oh.” _That_ made sense. Sansa and Ned would probably be a good match, come to think of it.

“‘Oh’ he says. As I was telling _you,_ she was telling _me_ that wished she had a suitor. Someone to flirt with and maybe care for, I guess. Ned is just her type. He’s all courtly manners and romance and heroic deeds. He’s handsome enough, I guess—Sansa always liked blonde hair. And above all, he’s _nice._ He’s a bit boring, but he’s kind. Sweet.” She made a look of disgust at that. “And that’s exactly what Sansa needs.”

“Oh,” Gendry repeated, unable to think of anything else to say. Arya didn’t like Ned. She liked him. She’d said so. He didn’t think she’d actually said that before.

“I can’t believe you’re jealous of Ned! You really are Ser Stupid. Ned is just so…Ned! I was never interested in him, not like _that._ And I don’t think he was interested in me, not really. It was just the Dornishman in him, brought out by the presence of a ‘lady’. And Sansa is a _real_ lady.”

He thought Arya was wrong about that. Ned had definitely been interested in her—Gendry had gotten very good at detecting that. But he also thought Ned would be much more interested in Sansa, who was tough like Arya but still all girly and ladylike.

Arya hopped down from the workbench and moved towards him, poking him hard in the stomach. “You don’t ever need to be jealous, Gendry. I don’t really like _anybody_ outside of my family.” He knew by now that she included him in that group.

But he couldn’t help but argue with her. It was just what they did. “You like Osha,” he pointed out. The two women had become fast friends and were nothing but trouble when they got together, having far too much in common. Residents of Riverrun braced themselves whenever the two women decided to share some wine, knowing there’d be flying knives, broken furniture, and furious cackling by the end of the night.

Another eyeroll. “Osha _is_ family, you idiot.” It made sense that she’d think that, given all the Wildling woman had done for Rickon.

He thought about who else he could say but he realized he was hard pressed to come up with someone. He supposed she begrudgingly respected certain people, like the men of the Brotherhood, but she didn’t enjoy their company. Alright, she _didn’t_ like anyone except her family. And he doubted she even liked all those in her family—she seemed to tolerate Edmure and Roslin, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say she liked them.

Being liked by Arya Stark was a rare thing, and therefore quite the honor. He grinned down at her, and she just huffed at how hopeless he was. He pulled her into a hug and lifted her off her feet. She claimed to hate when he did that, but he suspected that was a lie.

“I’m sorry, m’lady. I’ll try to be less stupid in the future.”

“You can _try_. But we both know you won’t succeed. Now put me down before I _make_ you!”

Once again, Gendry realized he was the happiest he’d ever been in his life. There were times that he was convinced he was dreaming: he had Arya, he had a _home._ But it was more than he’d ever dared dreamed, so he was forced to conclude that it was real. And this time it _did_ last, for well over two years. The surviving Starks at Riverrun maintained a low profile, lest they attract the ire of the Lannisters. But their enemies seemed distracted by other battles—Stannis and the Greyjoys, namely. And there was no shame in regrouping and planning for the future. Even Arya could admit that.

Arya still had her list, but Gendry suspected being able to get revenge so promptly for her mother and brother made things less urgent and besides, they’d had news of both Joffrey’s and Tywin’s deaths. She therefore took this time as an opportunity to train as a more effective tool for vengeance, not only training with many weapons but reading all sorts of books she’d found in the library—military strategy, finances, poisons…anything that might someday be useful. She even sparred with the Hound, who was utterly brutal and honest with her, and Gendry suspected he’d become a bit of a mentor. The grizzled man certainly had a poor influence on Arya’s language, which Gendry hadn’t thought could get much worse.

Arya had once mentioned offhand how that Jaqen creep offered to teach her if she ever made it to Bravos, but said she thought she was doing a fine job while staying in Westeros with the people she cared about…though it was a shame she wouldn’t learn how to ‘take her face off like Jaqen did.’ That demanded an explanation, which led to further inquiries. Eventually they figured that Arya had been invited to join the Faceless Men, a group of assassins it seems most thought were simply legend. Surprisingly, rather than regretting her missed opportunity Arya just shrugged it off.

“You seem pretty fond of my face; I don’t need others.” She said this nonchalantly, but with a bit of a blush.

“Aye, I’m pretty fond of your pretty face,” he laughed, pulling her towards him. “And I think you’re deadly and clever enough all on your own, without any special Bravossi training. I’m sure one day you’ll get a chance to complete your kill list, and as your ‘sworn shield’ I’ll help you however I can. ‘Sides, I’d like to see Cersai dead just as much as you.”

Arya just rolled her eyes at the idea of Gendry as her protector, though she’d long admitted that she would likely have been killed at the Twins had he not been watching her back. Still, there was something absurd about him being her source of security, given that _she_ was mostly responsible for training him to fight effectively. “Just as long as I get to be the one to give her the finishing blow.”

“You know that I live to serve your will, m’lady. I’d hardly get between you and a kill. I’d be too afraid to anyway…you might take me out to get to her!”

Another eyeroll, plus a snort this time. “And _you_ know I’d never hurt you, stupid!”

Gendry arched an eyebrow at her. “I’ve got bruises from sparring this morning that suggest otherwise, Arry.”

“Oh, you know what I mean!” Irritated, Arya tried to squirm out of his grasp, but Gendry just laughed and pulled her closer. He kissed her forehead sweetly and she calmed. “Anyway, I think there needs to be more than just my kill list; that’s not enough to make up for what has happened to my family. I also need to be ready to help Rickon take back Winterfell and restore House Stark to our previous position. I need to be _more_ than an assassin.”

Gendry’s hand cupped her face as he gazed intently into her eyes. “And you are. So much more.” She was his whole world, for starters.

%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%

BONUS HORMONAL MINI-CHAP

It was getting harder for him to control himself around her. As time passed Arya had, er, _grown_ , and it was impossible not to notice when they spent so much time in close proximity. And now that her hair had grown out and she wore clothes that fit her (though not dresses, naturally), it was obvious that she was turning into a little beauty. He knew Sansa was thought to be the pretty sister, but he thought she had nothing on his Arry. Besides, it was her fiery spirit more than anything that made her so attractive… though her face and figure were quite literally the stuff of Gendry’s dreams.

They were reading one cold rainy day and Gendry managed to finally finish some dense book on the Doom of Valryia that was full of all sorts of difficult words. Arya turned and beamed at him and in the face of that smile, he just couldn’t resist. He kissed her. Properly. On the mouth. And immediately winced, bracing himself for impact. As much as Arya seemed to enjoy their little intimacies, he didn’t think she’d allow that sort of liberty. But rather than punching him Arya just let out a little sigh (gods, would _that_ haunt him) and flung her arms around his neck. She kissed him back and it was obvious that she didn’t quite know what she was doing. But Gendry was more than happy to lead by example.

He’d never felt anything as amazing as kissing Arya Stark. It was like he’d been struck by lightning yet also like he was wrapped in the softest furs imaginable. His heart pounded like he was ready for battle, but he’d also never felt calmer and more content in his life. They seemed to just _fit_.

Once he’d opened the floodgates, there was nothing that could stop him from kissing her every chance he got. And Arya seemed to have no objections, even pausing their all-important sparring in favor of this less productive but considerably more fun activity. He hadn’t lost his senses entirely and always kept his hands firmly on her waist or in her hair, as much as they longed to wander. And he was content to do that since Arya did the same—she seemed in no hurry to do otherwise and as always, he would let her take the lead. Even if her neck was so tempting to nibble on when he sat behind her as they read, even if her curves called out for his touch…gods, for once Gendry was glad that they had separate chambers because he needed the privacy of his own bed more than ever.

He honestly never expected for things between them to go beyond kissing, despite his wishes and dreams to the contrary. As much as he adored her and as much as she denied it, she _was_ a lady and he a bastard, a laborer, a mere hedge knight. But Arya was champion of the unexpected. He should have remembered that.

Arya had found an illustrated book from Yi-Ti about a bizarre form of fighting. The pictures showed, among other things, a small person tossing a much larger person over their shoulder, and of course Arya needed to learn this. And _of course_ Gendry would be the one to help her, even if it meant him getting thrown and flipped. Thankfully, she decided they should practice it in the privacy of a nearby clearing on soft grass rather than the hard ground of the training yard.

It took some doing, since the text was untranslated, but the pictures were helpful enough and eventually, if Gendry came up from behind and tried to grab her, Arya could send him flying. He knew he ought to be ashamed by this, but he was simply amazed by her…and more than happy to get his hands on her.

They decided to try a different move from the book. Afterwards Gendry would not be able to remember how exactly it happened, but he ended flat on his back with Arya straddling him. He immediately doubted that he was awake, since he’d dreamt about this so, so many times. Yet his dreams were never so vivid: the feel of her, the smell of her. Unable to stop himself, he let out a deep moan. Embarrassed, he looked up at Arya, but she simply smirked and arched an eyebrow at him. And by the Seven, she shifted her hips. No, _rolled_ them.

“Arry!” he gasped, hands grabbing her waist to stop her, knowing that he could not hide how she was affecting him. He knew she knew what the bulge in his pants meant, since she’d made him tell him back when they were ‘recruits’ for the Watch. She’d insisted she needed to know if she was going to pretend to be a boy, and Gendry had what until then had been the most mortifying experience in his life explaining to a young girl why so many of the boys and men had their hands down their pants at night. _This_ , this was worse though.

Arya seemed unaffected by his embarrassment, if not entirely unaffected by what was happening. She was lightly panting, her eyes dilated, her face and neck flushed. It was when she bit her lip that he snapped, sitting up suddenly and kissing her passionately, all the while pulling her closer to him. She gasped and threw her head back but didn’t pull away, and Gendry seized the opportunity to have at her neck the way he’d been longing to for months, if not longer. He found a sensitive spot by her ear that made her make the most _amazing_ noises, and he thought that would end him right then. Seven hells, if it wasn’t her little whimpers and moans it would be the way she was rocking against him. He knew he was rutting against her like a beast, but she seemed to be enjoying it and by the gods, _he_ certainly was. He could only blame the redirected blood flow for his total lack of sense as he gave her little nips and bites along her collarbone and pawed at her breasts above her tunic.

“Gen-Gendry!” It was half gasp, half cry and it fully finished him off, much to his chagrin. As soon as his mind had cleared even a bit, he was kissing her again, unable to express his emotions. Shock. Awe. Gratitude. And love. Above all else, love.

“Did you…?” he asked, uncertain. She shook her head and in the back of his mind Gendry noted that she knew what he meant, that Arya had some familiarity of her own with pleasure. He moaned at the idea of her doing the same sorts of things he did at night in her own chambers, but quickly focused on the task at hand.

He’d had precious little experience with women but as an apprentice he’d had a handful of encounters with local girls who’d liked the look of him enough to ignore the gruff attitude and soot. It had been little more than awkward kissing and groping, but at least he had some familiarity with what he needed to do now. His hand slipped beneath her breeches and sought the parts of her that made her gasp and shiver in his arms. He experimented with different touches as he continued to kiss her, to nibble her neck, to whisper in her ear how beautiful she was and how good she felt. Soon enough it was Arya who was convulsing and crying out, and it was all enough to make Gendry have a second (albeit smaller) peak of his own.

Compared to some of the stories he’d heard from the Brotherhood, he knew this little interlude had been quite tame, but it was still the most intensely erotic moment of his life and he knew he’d remember it always. That isn’t to say he didn’t immediately regret it once his body and mind calmed down. Despite having Arya happily resting her head on his shoulder, he groaned and slapped a hand over his face.

“Gods, Arya! We shouldn’t have done that!”

She hoisted herself up enough to glare down at him. “And why not? You seemed to like it just fine a few minutes ago!”

“ _Like_ it? Seven hells, it was the best I’ve ever felt!” She blushed at that, but he pressed on. “But that doesn’t mean it was right. It’s not proper, I shouldn’t have…we shouldn’t have…dammit, you’re a lady! You should only do this sort of thing with your husband! Not _me_!”

Arya growled in annoyance and sat up fully. She flung her leg over him until she was straddling him again, but this time there was a promise of violence in it, not something more fun. She slapped at his shoulder. Hard.

“You stupid bull! Do you _honestly_ think I’m going to marry someone other than you?!” He gaped at her and she rolled her eyes in frustration. “For fuck’s sake, Gendry, we’re basically betrothed! And it’s not just me that thinks that— _everyone_ does.” Gendry just about swallowed his tongue at that. In his secret fantasies, he imagined getting to stay with Arya always but even then he never dared think about marriage. Some things just seemed too impossible to hope for.

“But Arya…you deserve someone so much better than me! Some lord or prince or…”

More eyerolling and another slap, though less hard this time. “You’re stupid, and stubborn, and you’re a pain in my arse but there’s _no one_ better than you. Not for me, anyway. ‘Sides, if I married some lord, I’d have to leave my family again and I’m not doing that.”

“Your family—they’d never…”

She cut him off. “Sansa and I’ve discussed this. Any decisions about marriage are going to be made solely by us—we’re not being used to barter with or form alliances, not anymore. Besides, who would make us marry? Uncle Edmure? Rickon?” She snorted. “It’s _my_ choice, and I chose you a long time ago. I’m not ready yet to be a wife, and I want to marry in the godswood of Winterfell. But in a few years, you’re going to be my husband, Gendry Waters. Is that clear?” She jammed her finger in his chest forcefully, and Gendry thought his heart might explode. How typically Arya—she wasn’t going to be _his_ wife, but he _her_ husband. He had absolutely no issues with that. Hell, he’d gladly become a Stark if they’d allow it. He was hers, after all.

“As you command, m’lady!” He laughed with delight and pulled her down so he could pepper his face with kisses, overwhelmed with elation.

“I’m not a lady—don’t call me that! Gods I hate you!” She squirmed and harrumphed but she was smiling.

He rolled them over and grinned down at her. “No, you don’t. You _love_ me. The Lady Arya loves Ser Stupid the Blacksmith.” His grin softened into a sweet smile. “But not half as much as I love you. Gods, Arry. I adore you. I have for ages now.”

Arya was flustered and trying to hide her smile. She shrugged as best she could, considering she was pinned beneath him. “See, this is what I mean. Stupid. You think I don’t know that?”

Rolling his eyes now at her cockiness, Gendry decided the best thing he could do was shut her up. Which he did. Thoroughly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movin' on up...to the North. Big changes for the Starks, especially Gendry & Arya!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! My little post script ended up being waaaaaaay later than I meant. (In my defense, I had a baby.)  
> Next chapter will hopefully also be up shortly, ish?

It was time; they were all in agreement: The Starks should return to Winterfell.

Westeros was perhaps at its most chaotic, meaning Kings Landing was unlikely to act in response to the family’s reemergence. Cersei had been at her most unpopular after she’d had the High Septon killed following her public shaming. Insecure over the new young queen’s appeal, Queen Margery too died under mysterious circumstances. No one had any doubt that it was Cersei’s doing, not even young King Tommen who ended up taking his life in despair. Cersei ascended to the Iron Throne but was hated and feared by many of her subjects. Many of the noble families found her difficult to deal with and struggled to meet her irrational and inappropriate demands. It didn’t help that Euron Greyjoy was actively courting her; the man was rumored to be bloodthirsty and insane (even by Iron Island standards).

The North too had gone through a recent period of further unrest when Lord Karstark led a small army against Stannis Barratheon on behalf of Queen Cersei, to whom he vowed his fidelity. To Greatjon’s horror, his son Smalljon joined the cause and brought some of the Umber men along. Lord Umber and his son had clashed over the wildlings that were now south of the wall: Greatjon understood the necessity of it but Smalljon resented the intrusion. A handful of other northern lords agreed, and they’d met the would-be king in battle. Stannis was victorious, but at great cost: His army had been struggling and starving in the North, and this conflict was its deathblow. Stannis too was found dead not long after the battle. And so at last ended the War of the Five Kings.

Greatjon, though he grieved the betrayal and eventual loss of his son, argued that this left things ready for a new start. The North was in dire need to leadership, still having no Warden. He urged the Stark children to take up their birthright and reclaim their ancestral home. He swore to advise them if they wished, which was for the best since Bryden Tully—who had effectively been acting as their guardian and mentor—informed them he could not accompany them.

“I can’t leave the Riverlands,” he grumbled at them. “Edmure couldn’t find his arse with both hands and a map. Though you’re younger, you’ve more sense in your heads than he’ll ever have. Aye, even you lad,” he nodded to little Rickon, who giggled at the idea of being smarter than his uncle the Lord Paramount. The gruff old man clapped Sansa and Arya on the shoulders and looked them straight in the eyes. “I trust you two lassies to take care of things, you’re both like your mother. She had a good head, that one. And a backbone as tough as Valerian steel. Trust your instincts, and don’t take any shit from anyone.”

“Yes uncle,” the girls both cried as the embraced the man, who seemed uncomfortable with the affection but appreciated it nonetheless.

The Blackfish addressed Gendry next. “I’d tell you to take care of her,” he nodded towards Arya “but we both know that she can take care of herself. But keep on supporting her, boy. She’ll need it. They’ll all need it.” This Gendry swore to do, shaking the man’s hand with great respect and admiration.

The Starks, their protectors Gendry and Clegane, and a borrowed company of Tully men slowly made their way to Winterfell, stopping at Northern holdfasts along the way. For the most part, they received a warm welcome. If anyone was skeptical of Rickon serving as Lord of Winterfell due to his young age, Arya reminded them that she was not much more than a child herself when she’d helped avenge the Northern lords who were killed at the Red Wedding. That usually quieted their concerns. If it didn’t, Sansa’s cool confidence and political savvy won them over. In truth, most in the north had felt uncomfortable and incomplete without the Starks and were happy to have the family back in whatever form it took. If it was unconventional to have two young women acting as regents for a small boy, well, so be it.

When they arrived at Winterfell, it was a time of mixed emotions. Joy at being home, sorrow for all they’d lost. They could see the physical scars on their home that marked some of what had happened, and most of the servants they’d known as children were gone. They decided to make a fresh start, all of them choosing new rooms. Gendry was flabbergasted when Arya announced they were going to be sharing one from now on.

“But Arry! We’re not married yet!”

“So? Why does that matter?”

“It ain’t proper, that’s why!” Gendry insisted. And as he should have expected, Arya slapped the back of his head (as she was wont to do when he went on about propriety).

“It’s nobody’s business but our own, stupid. We shared quarters before, and the only reason we didn’t at Riverrun was because I knew it would upset Uncle Edmure. But we’re in our own home now, Gendry. This place is _ours._ We make the rules.”

Gendry was so shocked at the idea of Winterfell being considered his home that he forgot to keep arguing.

Arya was very demanding about what they could and should do, but there was one domain where Gendry put his foot down. He would not bed her before they were married. (Which isn’t to say they didn’t do _other_ things…Arya had found another illustrated book in the library, this one from Lys, and Gendry thanked the New and Old Gods every day for its existence. But still.)

“I won’t get pregnant, stupid! There’s moon tea!” Arya argued.

“Aye, and that tea doesn’t always work!” Gendry retorted. “Otherwise there’d be no bastards! I’ll not risk it, Arry! Besides, it’s…it’s the principal of the thing! I won’t dishonor you!”

She rolled her eyes. “But everyone already thinks you are! That _we_ are…”

“I don’t care what _they_ think, it’s about what _I_ think! And what I know! I know I love you more than anything, Arya Stark, and I know that I want to do right by you.” He lived up to his stubborn reputation and refused to yield, even if they now shared a bed. (Arya had been greatly disappointed to find he no longer slept naked. He’d laughed and told her he’d only done that when he owned just one set of clothes. And besides, it was too damn cold in the north. “It’s your own fault for providing for me so well and bringing me to this freezing place, m’lady.”)

They were still settling into Winterfell when they had their first unexpected guests: a gigantic woman wearing full armor and her squire. She introduced herself as Lady Brianne of Tarth, and she told the sisters of the oath she’d sworn to their mother to bring them home. She’d been searching for them ever since, and upon hearing of their arrival she came to make good of her vow in a different way.

“Let me serve as your protector, ladies. I couldn’t see you safely home, but I can see you safe _in_ your home.”

The sisters exchanged a look. Arya already had a ‘sworn shield,’ and Sandor Clegane more or less acted that way for Sansa. But there was no disputing that the North was still dangerous for the family, and as Starks they knew the importance of a sacred vow.

“Be welcome, Lady Brianne. We gladly accept your sword and shield, and the protection that comes with it,” Sansa proclaimed to the older woman.

It was a boon to have her join their household. Although Clegane felt the closest to Sansa, temperamentally he was a better fit for Rickon and the Maid of Tarth for Sansa. The Hound grumbled at first, but Rickon’s enthusiasm for his new guard soon overwhelmed him. Gendry suspected that after having the ungrateful Joffrey Lannister as a charge, having a young boy who thought him a magnificent hero had to be flattering. And he enjoyed arguing with Osha, who had a mouth even fouler than his own. Between the two of them, there was no doubt that Rickon would grow up with a very colorful vocabulary. But he’d also grow up, which was the important bit.

They’d written to Jon at the Wall upon their arrival. They figured as Lord Commander that he’d be unable to get away anytime soon, so they were shocked when he arrived at the gates of Winterfell with a small contingent within a few months of their homecoming.

As the castellan saw to the guests, the Stark siblings ran to their big brother’s arms…even Rickon, who barely remembered Jon. He gave them all mighty hugs, swinging them around with glee. Gendry was amazed to see Sansa giggle with happiness; the young woman was usually so reserved. Arya got the longest hug, of course, her bond with her brother having always been a special one.

He exclaimed at her replacement sword, not realizing it wasn’t his original gift.

“Still got your Needle?” he said with a grin.

“Well, sort of. The one you gave me was stolen, but Gendry made me a new one.”

“Gendry?” Jon asked and Sansa, ever the gracious hostess, made the introductions.

“Jon, this is Ser Gendry. Arya’s friend, sworn shield, and companion.”

“Betrothed,” Arya corrected. Sansa just beamed at the pair while Jon looked floored at the idea that his little sister was old enough to be betrothed.

“Well! It seems like a lot has happened! Shall we go inside where we can catch up?” The siblings all excitedly agreed, Rickon leaping onto Jon’s back (clearly remembering the rides he used to get from this particular brother when he was younger). Gendry would have given the family privacy like Osha did, but Arya rolled her eyes at him and pulled him along.

It took some time, but the younger Starks gave Jon a summary of the past few years. He shook his head in amazement at all that had befallen them, and how they’d managed to stay alive despite it. He in turn described the White Walkers and the threat posed by the Night King. They’d known something had driven the wildlings south of the Wall, but they hadn’t known what.

“It makes everything that happened in Kings Landing seem so…petty,” Sansa murmured in horror. “What does it matter who sits on the Iron Throne, if Winter is truly coming?” Jon just nodded gravely.

“We’ll do everything we can to help,” Arya assured him. “Jon, how long can you stay? I assume that you’ll need to report back to Castle Black before too long.”

Jon shook his head slowly. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m not longer part of the Night’s Watch.”

“What!? Why!?” everyone exclaimed.

“But I thought the Night’s Watch was a lifelong oath!” Sansa added.

Jon shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “Well, that’s the thing. I sort of…died.” Everyone’s exclamations were much louder and much more shocked than before. “I’m fine! Honest! Some of my brother watchmen didn’t approve of the way I treated the wildlings and well, they killed me? Technically.” He must have seen Arya’s eyes flash in fury because he quickly added, “They’re all dead now. Hanged for their treason. But Stannis, he had this Red Priestess with him and she…brought me back. Said R’hllor had a purpose for me or something.” He shrugged at that while Gendry and Arya nodded in understanding. “I don’t know how or why I was brought back, but I figure I’m released from my vow. And I think I can do more good elsewhere. There’s not enough watchmen to fight the dead. We’re going to need allies, lots of them.”

Everyone sat in stunned silence while they processed what he’d just said. Their brother had died and had returned from the dead. And there was an army of the dead headed their way.

Sansa cleared her throat and spoke up. “I can visit our aunt at the Ayrie, see about getting some knights of the Vale to come fight.”

“But isn’t Littlefinger married to her now?” Arya exclaimed in disgust. Gendry shared her sentiments; he’d heard all about Lord Baelish from her and the Blackfish and it seemed to him the man was a right creep.

“Yes, which I think will help things. He…has a soft spot for me because I resemble Mother so closely.” Sansa shuddered slightly, which was echoed by her sister.

“I don’t like you going where that man is,” Arya said darkly.

“I’ll bring Lady Brianne with me,” Sansa assured her.

“Bring Sandor, too!” Rickon insisted. “He’ll make sure that you’re allowed to come back home.” Gendry was impressed by the young boy’s willingness to share his favorite person.

Sansa smiled at her brother reassuringly. “I’d like to see somebody try to stop me, sweetling.”

“We can try to contact the Brotherhood,” Arya mused. “They might appreciate a new purpose after all this time. Especially if you’re chosen by R’hllor, Jon. Some of them are quite…resolute in their faith.”

“Those both sound like wonderful ideas,” Jon said with a smile.

Rickon cleared his throat, uncomfortable speaking with his older siblings about such important matters. “So Jon isn’t part of the Night’s Watch anymore?”

“No, lad. I’m not,” the man in question answered.

Rickon scrunched his face in thought. “Then can I do that thing where I make him ligymat?”

“You what?” Sansa spoke on behalf of all of them—they had no idea what their little brother meant.

“You know, ligymat! Make him a Stark, say he isn’t a bastard no more!”

“You mean make him _legitimate_!” Sansa corrected. “But sweetling, if you did that, _Jon_ would become Lord Stark because he’s older than you.”

“Exactly!” Rickon said with a huff. “I don’t _want_ to be Lord of Winterfell, not if there’s all this trouble coming! I’d rather have Jon take care of things.”

“Rickon,” Jon said with a sad smile. “I don’t want to take your title from you.”

“S’not my title, not really!” Rickon insisted. “It were Father’s title, and it should have been Robb’s. Never mine! You were Lord Commander of the Watch, you’d know how to be a proper Warden of the North. I’m just a kid!”

“We don’t have to decide on this right now,” Sansa said soothingly. “Let’s all think and talk about it some more. But it’s a good idea, Rickon,” she added when she saw the boy start to pout.

A knock at the door meant the issue was tabled for now, though Gendry thought it was a grand idea. It sounded like the North needed a strong leader more than ever, and Jon Stark would be a much better option than a child, even if that child had the guidance of Sansa and Arya.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Jon, but I just wanted to check in with you,” the man at the door explained.

“No, no, come in! Let me introduce you. This is Ser Davos Seaworth. He was Hand to Stannis Barratheon.”

The older man frowned at the name. “Don’t know if I like being described that way. ‘Specially since I left his service before he got himself killed.”

Jon gave the man a sad smile and turned to his siblings. “Ser Davos has taken me under his wing now.” Turning back to the man he asked, “How is Shireen doing?”

Davos let out a long sigh. “As well as can be expected, I ‘spose.” He turned to Arya and Sansa to explain. “I overheard Stannis and his bloody witch talkin’ about sacrificing his daughter Shireen to their Red God to help his army. I couldn’t be havin’ with that. Shireen’s a good girl, sweet as they come. So I returned to me roots and smuggled her out of her father’s camp. Was so angry I didn’t think…I should have given her a lie as to why we needed to leave in a hurry. But instead I blurted everything out and now that poor girl knows her mother and father would have burnt her alive.” Another sad sigh.

“You saved her life,” Jon reminded him.

“Aye, and mayhaps I damned Stannis for it. He won the battle but still ended up dead somehow.”

Arya and Sansa exchange a look—they knew what had happened to Stannis. Lady Brianne had told them of how she’d avenged Renly. Well, maybe she’d tell this Ser Davos, too.

“Serves him right, though,” Davos went on. “I never held with human sacrifice. He’d done it before. And I’d stopped it once before, too—saved one of Robert’s bastards once.” He was looking around the room now, and he started when he set eyes on Gendry. “Who are you, lad? I reckon you’re not a Stark.”

Gendry squirmed at the man’s attention. “Gendry, m’lord.”

“ _Ser_ Gendry,” Sansa corrected as Davos insisted he wasn’t a lord, and barely a knight.

“Gendry what?” the knight prodded.

“Gendry Waters.”

“A bastard, eh? Do you know who your father was, then?” The older man’s eyes were assessing him, taking in his features.

Gendry just shrugged. “No, sir. I’ve been called Waters all my life, but I was never an acknowledged bastard.”

“Is that a Fleabottom accent I hear?”

Gendry nodded, and arched an eyebrow at Davos.

“Aye, lad. I’m gutterborn too. And I reckon I know who your father was, since the boy I saved from Stannis’ witch could be your twin.” Davos wrinkled his nose as he looked more closely. “Your scrawnier twin, truth be told. Edric weren’t nearly as big as you.”

“What!?” Gendry was utterly lost.

“You’re another one of Robert Baratheon’s bastards, or I’ll chop of some more of me fingers,” the knight waggled his hand to emphasize his point.

“It can’t be!” Gendry cried as Arya exclaimed “That’s why the Goldcloaks were looking for you!”

Gendry sat there, stunned at the idea that his father was a king. It did explain why soldiers were looking at him. Hells, it even explained why he was taking on as an apprentice at such a prestigious shop as Mott’s at such a young age, with no money. Arya patted his knee comfortingly. All this time he thought he was nothing, he had royal blood in his veins. Illegitimate, to be sure, but royal.

Seeking to change the subject to give Gendry time to process things, Sansa asked the knight what he planned to do next.

“Well, I’d like to get Shireen to the Stormlands. She’d be safer there and it seems to me like they ought lawfully be hers, as the last legitimate Baratheon. From what I hear there’s no one ruling them right now anyways.”

“Would they accept a daughter as heir though?” Sansa asked and the older knight shrugged.

“That I don’t know. And she’s just a lass, which makes it all the more unlikely. Maybe if she had a Lord Protector or someone to act on her behalf, but that can’t be me. I don’t get that kind of respect in the Stormlands, I’m just the Onion Knight—a former smuggler raised too high above his station.” He gave a self-deprecating smile.

“Maybe Lord Tarth would do so? His daughter is here, she can advise you on what to do.” Sansa stood. “Come, let me bring you to her.”

“Lady Brianne is here? I’ve not seen her in years!” Ser Davos followed her out, chatting about the last time he’d seen the formidable woman. The rest of the party went their own ways, all having much to think about.

By the time they all met up again for dinner, it was decided that Davos and Shireen would sail south from White Harbor with Sansa, Lady Brianne, and Clegane, with half the party stopping at the Ayrie and the rest continuing on to Tarth. They’d recruit bannermen to fight the Walkers in the Vale and Stormlands alike, as well as finding a new maester or two for Winterfell. If war was coming, they’d want healers.

Gendry mostly just sat there and ate as the others made plans, though Jon did ask him about his familiarity with dragonglass. Apparently, it was the only substance that killed White Walkers, apart from Valerian steel and fire. Gendry had never worked with obsidian, but he promised to look over the sample Jon had. There was apparently tons of the stuff at Dragonstone, and Stannis had gotten some shipped to Castle Black but their smith hadn’t known what to do with it.

Feeling the urgency of the situation and urgently wanting to hit something with his hammer, Gendry excused himself to go work in the forge for a bit after the meal. Much to his horror, Jon followed him out of the room and stopped him with a touch to the arm. The former watchman fixed him with a steely stare.

“So you’re the man who shares a chamber with my baby sister.”

“No! Well, yes! But we don’t…I’ve never…I’d never…Arya insisted!” Gendry spluttered to the older man, who managed to be quite intimidating despite not armed or particularly imposing.

Fortunately, he’d stumbled upon the right answer in the end and Jon gave a rueful smile. “Ah, yes. Arya always did need to have her own way. She was like that as a child, and I can’t imagine she’s gotten any better without her parents to keep her in check.”

“I like it when she gets her way,” Gendry mumbled. “Makes her happy.”

“Aye, to be sure. But no one is served by never hearing ‘no.’ You should try it sometime with her.”

Gendry flushed, thinking of the issue where he _did_ defy Arya and _did_ tell her no. He wasn’t going to be telling her big brother about that, though. Not for all the gold in Casterly Rock.

Jon didn’t seem to notice his discomfort and kept on talking. “But you do intend to marry her, yes? You’re not going to dishonor my sister?”

Back on safe ground, Gendry nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, m’lord…er, I mean aye. I’ll marry her as soon as she says she’s ready to get married.” At the other man’s confused face, he explained. “Arya…well, she didn’t exactly _propose_ so much as she just told me that we was getting married one day. She hasn’t told me when that day is, I don’t reckon she knows herself. But I’m ready, don’t you worry!”

Jon threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Arya! She has you kept like a trained bear on a leash, Ser Gendry! You really need to stand up to her sometimes.”

It was Gendry’s turn for a rueful smile, and he rubbed his hand through his hair. “Well, I cut my hair even though she told me not to. She hasn’t shut up about since, keeps tellin’ me how much she hates it. So if that’s what I get for having my own way, I think I’ll pass.”

Jon squinted at the blacksmith’s close-cropped head and wrinkled his nose. “It _is_ a bit short.”

“Oy, not you too! If I had lovely long locks like yours, it’d catch fire in the forge and I doubt Clegane wants the competition over who has a worse face.”

Jon laughed again and gave the young man an appraising look. “I saw your father once, at Winterfell.”

“I met yours, in my shop.”

“You’re a lot leaner.”

“You’re a lot shorter.” Well, shit. Gendry knew he probably shouldn’t have said that. But the other man was just shaking his head and smiling.

“I bet you and my sister get in a lot of trouble.”

Gendry shrugged. “Eh, a fair bit. But she’s good at getting us out of it.”

“So it would seem. I’d like to hear more of the details about that sometime. I suspect Arya downplayed things.”

“No worries on that with me, I’m more likely to gush too much about how amazin’ she is.”

A final smile from the older man. “That’s what I like to hear from my sister’s betrothed. Until later, Ser Gendry.”

“Just Gendry, Arya teases me something fierce if she hears people call me Ser.”

“Then I’m just Jon.” The two men clasped hands and parted, with a better understanding of each other.

Before Sansa set sail, they planned a feast to formally celebrate the Stark’s return. They invited guests from the Northern holdings so that they could inform them that Jon Snow was now Lord Jon Stark and have a meeting about the threat from beyond the Wall.

Nothing could have prepared the siblings for the arrival of Bran, accompanied by Meera Reed. And nothing could have prepared them for how…odd he’d become.

“I told Meera we needed to hurry so that we’d be here in time for the feast,” Bran said with a slight smile. “Sansa’s put so much work into planning it, I’d have hated to miss it.”

Gendry was completely lost by all this “Three-Eyed Raven” talk but from what he gathered, Arya’s brother was now some sort of seer who couldn’t really see the future but instead saw the past and present. That didn’t make much sense to him; he’d thought the whole point of seers was to know what was going to happen. Still, Bran seemed to have access to all sorts of information about the Night King and other things, including Gendry’s past. The Stark confirmed that King Robert was his father and described the circumstances of how his parents met. Gendry was relieved to know his mother had not been forced or treated like a whore but instead had been smitten with the Baratheon for a time. Robert had had no idea of Gendry’s existence, but the former Hand Jon Arryn made it a point to follow up with the King’s paramours to keep track of and provide for any by-blows. His mother received an allowance while she was alive, and Arryn got him the apprenticeship once she passed. Gendry had mixed feelings to know that so much of his life affected by a father he’d never known, but Bran pointed out that all of this had to happen to bring him to Arya, and he couldn’t dispute the wisdom in that.

Gendry couldn’t have sworn to it, but he thought that Bran seemed to be a bit shifty about Jon. He supported the idea of Jon being Lord of Winterfell—the young man said he himself was incapable of ruling—but he seemed conflicted about something. He’d even talked to Arya about it, in a very roundabout manner. Arya confided in Gendry later that she hadn’t quite known what to say.

“He asked if I thought it was wrong to lie or hide the truth if you knew the truth would only lead to pain and misery, and I told him ‘of course not.’ But he seemed concerned that he might be interfering with destiny.”

The blacksmith frowned. “Well, if its destined to happen then you can’t interfere with it, right? Isn’t that what destiny means?”

“That’s what I said!” Arya exclaimed. “But Bran said there are many possible paths that the future can take, and he basically has to choose which to follow and hope that things work out for the best. Seems like a lot of responsibility.” She shrugged, uncomfortable with the burden her brother bore.

“But that’s what we all do anyway, innit? You choose what to do and it affects all sorts of stuff down the road. Like, if I never talked to you that first time when those other boys were hasslin’ you? Or if I didn’t leave Harrenhall with you? Who knows what would have happened to me, or to you? All the choices I made brought us to right here, right now. And it seems to have worked out pretty good. Even if there is a whole army of dead folks headed our way. Your brother is doing the same thing, just with a bit more knowledge I guess.”

Arya wrapped her arms around him and shook her head in disbelief. “That all sounds remarkably smart for someone so stupid.”

Gendry blushed. “I do like to keep you on your toes, m’lady. I can surprise you so rarely.”

The meeting went well. Jon had been worried that some of the other nobles wouldn’t believe in the threat posed by the Walkers and had suggested going beyond the Wall to capture a live one. Arya shut that idea down promptly, informing her brother that it was stupid, careless, and would only get more people killed.

“You’ve got many witnesses who can swear to the gods about what they saw,” she reminded her older brother. “You’ve got Bran who can magically tell people about how this has all happened before. If that’s not enough for them, they’re too small-minded or craven to be worthy allies anyway. Fuck ‘em.” As always, Gendry was charmed and impressed by her ability to explain things so pithily.

The only obstacle that they ran into was that many of the northern lords (and the little Lady Mormont) wanted to declare Jon King in the North. He immediately objected, and not just because the title reminded him of his ill-fated brother.

“Right now, Queen Cersei is too busy dealing with trouble in Kings Landing,” he explained. “They’ve been ignoring the North for years now. But if I’m a King, then I’m a more immediate threat and she might send an army here to put down what she’d see as a rebellion. We can’t be fighting a war on two fronts right now. Maybe when this is all over, but first we have to make sure there’s a future for the living.” The northerners grumbled but did see his point.

“But what if we got Queen Cersei to send us an army to fight _with_ us?” asked someone who Gendry didn’t know. He assumed he was one of the newer lords who came to power after the Red Wedding, because he seemed extremely young… and extremely naïve.

Sansa was able to answer this question. “Cersei would never help, even if we did convince her of the threat. She is selfish and cannot see the bigger picture. As long as _she_ is safe in the Red Keep, she doesn’t care what happens elsewhere in Westeros.”

“But the Night King would eventually head south! Isn’t that what you’ve been telling us?” another lord asked.

The red-headed woman shrugged. “Cersei hasn’t even prepared the kingdoms for a normal winter. She didn’t see the point in reserving food for the future, because she could just import food from abroad. She thinks every problem can be solved with Lannister gold. She’d probably just hire mercenaries from Essos and think that enough protection.” She looked around the room, fixing each lord with her steely, knowing gaze. “We should not presume to reason with her. She is not rational. She is not even sane. She is a cruel, drunk tyrant blinded by greed and power.”

“And one day I’m going to kill her,” Arya muttered. Gendry patted her knee to express his approval.

Now Jon spoke up. “We have time to prepare. The Wall protects us still, and the Night King does not yet have a way to bring it down. But he will, within the next few years.” He nodded at Bran, who acknowledged this with a slight bow. “In the meantime, we must make weapons, make alliances, and make plans. Here’s what I propose…”

And thus the North prepared. Jon arranged for many of the old Nights Watch fortresses to be reopened, manned by soldiers from the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Stormlands, as well as the Brotherhood. Smithies throughout the North made spears, swords, and arrowheads from dragonglass based on Gendry’s instructions. (Although Stannis had died, his castellan kept the shipments coming on Lady Shireen’s orders.) A maester friend of Jon’s named Sam combed old books to find the secret to making Wildfire, a risky and volatile substance to be sure but one that might make all the difference against an army of the dead. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was all they could do.

The unexpected guests kept on coming. Only Bran could have foretold the arrival of Jaime Lannister with a contingent of Lannister men, but he hadn’t given them any sort of warning. (Gendry suspected the young man found it fun to frustrate them in this way. He might no longer be the same as he was before, but deep down he was still Arya’s brother, and Arya enjoyed being a pain in the arse, too.)

Lannister knew he’d be viewed as an enemy by nearly every inhabitant of Winterfell, so he immediately threw himself upon their mercy, falling to his knees in front of the Stark children.

“Word has reached Kings Landing of what is coming. Many don’t believe it, but when I heard the Lady Brianne was here, I knew that it must be the truth.” He turned to face Sansa and Arya. “Years ago, we both swore a vow to your mother Lady Catelyn to find you and bring you safely home. Allow me to fulfill that vow in another way, and to fight for the living.”

“Pretty words mean naught, Ser Jaime,” Sansa said coolly. “Especially in the face of your unpretty actions.”

The knight flushed. “I have done truly terrible things. I cannot deny this.” His eyes flashed to Bran, who regarded him blankly. “I accept full responsibility for them. But my sister Cersei…she was able to get me to do things that I knew to be truly wicked. Though I didn’t care at the time, my actions now haunt me. I beg you for a chance to atone for the wrongs I’ve done your family, though I fully understand if you cannot trust me.”

“Your sister has no more influence on you?” Arya asked skeptically.

Jaime flushed again, but this time in anger. He stood and began to pace in frustration. “My sister is an evil, hateful, selfish woman. After Tommen…” He trailed off, choked up at the thought of his youngest son. “After, she sent me to fetch Myrcella from Dorne. She said she wanted her to be safe at home. But when I got there, I saw she was already safe. Not only safe, but deeply in love with her Dornish prince. She begged me to let her stay, so I did. I was there for her wedding.” He beamed at the memory, but then his face fell. “When I returned home to explain to my sister what I’d done, she cursed me. Railed at me like she was crazed. I argued that Cella was happy, and wasn’t that what mattered? But Cersei insisted only _her_ happiness mattered.” His jaw clenched. “I’d always thought her to be a devoted mother. It was her one redeeming trait. But she is devoted to no one but herself. She raised Joffrey to be a monster, she drove Tommen to his death, and she would have denied Myrcella her happiness. She cares for only herself.” He gestured to the room. “She’s heard the rumors of what lies north of the Wall, too. She claims to not believe them, but she also doesn’t care. ‘Let the North die’ she said. Nevermind that the North is part of her so‑called realm.” He spat in disgust. “She is dead to me. May the gods will it that she is actually dead one day soon.”

Arya gave her sister a little shrug, indicating she believed the man. Gendry did too, but he didn’t know this Ser Jaime the way Sansa did. The older sister still looked skeptical, but then the Lady Brianne spoke on his behalf and persuaded her to let him and his men stay. And as Jon pointed out, they needed the men. Plus, there was the bonus of watching Ser Jaime fluster the normally stoic Lady Brianne by flirting mercilessly with her. With things as bleak as they were, any entertainment was greatly appreciated.

Gendry kept himself busy primarily in the forge, but also by talking Arya down from doing something stupid. She proposed that since there was time before the Night King came, she could nip down to Kings Landing and assassinate Cersei. She was convinced she could slip in and out of the city easily enough and had many different methods and plans for the killing itself. She’d interrogated Ser Jaime and Sansa for all their knowledge about the Red Keep and Cersei’s habits, as well as everyone who’d ever lived in Kings Landing for information about the city.

“Arry, love. I’m sure you could do it. But maybe now isn’t the time? Your brother wants us focused on the North after all…”

“But they don’t need me for anything!”

Gendry wagged a finger at her disapprovingly. “That’s not true and you know it. You’ve been helpin’ with the battle plans and training the fighters. And with keepin’ things going here.”

Arya pouted, but she didn’t dispute his claims. “It wouldn’t take long! I could take a ship…”

“And you keep talking like you’d be going alone, and you _know_ that’s wrong, m’lady. If you’re going, I’m going.”

“But Gennnndry!” she whined. “You’d only get in the way. You’re too big to be sneaky. You’re a big bull!”

“This big bull knows more about Kings Landing than you ever will. And this big bull is your bloody sworn shield and betrothed and if you think I’m letting you go off by yourself then _you’re_ the stupid one!” She let out an exasperated sigh, but he pushed on. “Tell you what. Let’s talk to Bran. See if he has any visions or whatever about Cersei.”

Thankfully, Bran just gave Arya his creepy little smile and told her it was not yet time for Cersei to die. He made some sort of cryptic reference to dragons coming home and how Arya would be needed for something else first, then wheeled himself away. (Gendry had long accepted that his relationship with this particular brother would probably always be distant—he just couldn’t relate to the young man. But then again, the Starks themselves seemed to be struggling on that front too.)

“ _Fine_ ,” Arya sighed. “I just feel like I could be doing more!”

“You’re doing plenty, love,” Gendry reassured her.

She thought for a few minutes, staring into space and gnawing on her lip (much to Gendry’s distraction). Finally, she seemed to have a revelation. “I know! Let’s get married!”

“What!?!”

“I think I’m bored. I’m busy enough, but it’s all the same these days. I need a new challenge, and I think marriage should do it!”

Gendry shook his head. “I’m no expert, but I don’t think you’re supposed to get married because you’re bored, Arry. You should get married because you _want_ to be married.”

She rolled her eyes. “I do want to be married, stupid. I have for ages. I just hadn’t felt ready to be a wife, because I know it’d change things for us, it’d change _me._ ” Gendry didn’t know about that, but then he’d never really seen a marriage up close. “I think I’m ready for that change now. I’ll have to be more mature, less reckless, less selfish…”

Gendry frowned in thought. “What do I need to do, then? How do I need to change?”

She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a sweet kiss. “ _You’ve_ been ready for ages! And you’ve been very patiently waiting for me. You’re going to be a wonderful husband, Gendry. And I’m going to try to be a wonderful wife.”

He gave her a kiss in return. “Of course you’ll be a wonderful wife, sweetheart. You’re my Arya.”

Knowing Sansa and her tendency to overdo things, Arya decided it would be best to spring their wedding on her family with no warning. One night at dinner in the Great Hall, she stood up and made an announcement.

“Ser Gendry and I will be married tonight in the Godswood at the Hour of the Wolf. Anyone interested in witnessing this is welcome to join us. Anyone with comments, criticisms, or even suggestions is welcome to stay quiet lest they make me angry.” She arched an eyebrow meaningfully and looked around the room. By now, most had learned they did not want to make Arya Stark angry.

The room loudly toasted the couple, and Sansa obligingly kept her mouth shut (though Gendry could tell it caused her physical pain to do so).

The ceremony itself was remarkably fast. Gendry had never seen an Old Gods wedding, though Arya had told him what to expect. Jon gave Arya away (though both he and Bran, who was officiating, did this exchange with a bit of irony as Arya belonged to nobody but herself), they took each other as man and wife, and then they knelt in the snow to pray. All present—and they did draw a fair number of witnesses wanting to support the couple or at least see the wildest Stark wed her bastard‑born blacksmith/knight —prayed that newlyweds would have years of happiness despite the coming war. Gendry gave Arya his cloak, and she gave him hers (judging by the gasps from the crowd, he suspected that wasn’t typical). And just like that, they were married.

Arya was to remain a Stark, as she outranked her new husband. And Gendry was given a new last name by Jon: Ser Gendry Starksmith. He had no interest in becoming a Baratheon, but it was nice to be rid of his bastard surname. If he and Arya _did_ ever have children, he didn’t want them to bear any shame. It was wonderful to hear his new name announced to the crowd, a sign that he was now an official part of the Stark family. But not nearly as wonderful as officially belonging to Arya.

The couple was swamped by well‑wishers, which Gendry patiently tolerated for about ten minutes since they were foregoing the traditional post‑ceremony feast. However, every man has his breaking point and Arya had been pushing him to his for literally _years_. At last, he swept Arya into his arms and marched swiftly out of the Godswood and back to the castle, much to the amusement of all present. They had somewhere important to be, after all.

*****************Semi smutty chapter epilogue*******

Arya, being Arya, did not make things easy for Gendry as he hauled her back to their chambers. She worked love bites into his neck, pulled his hair, sucked on his earlobe, and whispered all manner of filthy things to him as he carried her through the woods, through the yard, into the castle, and up what seemed like countless stairs. It took every ounce of his strength not to just throw her down and have his way with her on the nearest somewhat soft surface—a pile of grain bags, for instance—now that their doing so was sanctioned by law and the Old Gods alike. But dammit, he’d stubbornly held firm for so long despite her best efforts at seducing him, he’d be damned if he caved now. His lovely wife only chuckled evilly at how red his face had turned and at how tightly his jaw was clenched, and resumed torturing him. Gods, he loved her.

When they finally, _finally,_ reached the privacy of their room, Gendry surprised Arya by not throwing her down on the bed and ripping off her clothes but instead gently placing her on her feet and giving her the softest, sweetest, most loving kiss. She responded by pushing _him_ down on the bed and ripping off _his_ clothes, then doing the same to her own. Gods, he loved her.

One of Arya’s favorite ways of rewarding/punishing Gendry was to describe in vivid detail just what they’d do once they were finally wed and he’d be willing to properly bed her. Hearing her describe everything she wanted to do to him, what she wanted him to do to her…Well. It was agony and ecstasy for him, as she fully intended. And after literally years of this, he knew that she had very specific plans for how their wedding night would go and as was his general practice, he was more than happy to let her have her way. She’d long insisted that she would be on top their first time. To say this was acceptable to Gendry would be as large an understatement as saying Cersei Lannister could be difficult, or Bran was a bit odd. He was so enthusiastic about it that he was legitimately concerned he might finish before they even began and feared that if he did so, Arya would actually stab him. (Because he knew she loved him, he figured she’d use the incredible Valyrian steel dagger her brother had given her. Truly amazing workmanship, that.) He drew upon his last reserves of willpower to keep himself together as Arya, bare as the day she was born, climbed on top of him. His hands rested lightly on her hips and he gazed up at her in wonder. Gods, he loved her.

For once, there were no words between them. No flirty banter or stubborn arguing. Arya stared at him like he was water and she was dying of thirst, and he knew his own face must match because that’s how he felt. He’d become familiar enough with her body to know she was ready—Seven Hells, she was _so_ ready; he himself was harder than dragonglass from all she'd be doing since the ceremony—and as they stared deeply into one another’s eyes they officially sealed their marriage and became one. She felt incredible, like nothing else. There was a meaningful pause where tough little Arry silently communicated how much she loved him, and if Gendry were a maid he’d have swooned at the romance of it all. (One of Sandor’s favorite lines of mocking was to call Gendry the woman in their relationship; he wasn’t completely wrong.) Then his she-wolf’s eyes changed, and she proceeded to follow through on her promise to fuck him so hard he forgot how to speak. Fortunately, Gendry was a vigorous young man and after a brief pause, _he_ was able to fuck _her_ so hard she howled. Gods, he loved her.

Come sunrise, he was more exhausted than he’d ever been but his bride’s list for their first night as man and wife was complete. She wouldn’t be Arya if it hadn’t been ambitious, but he wouldn’t be Gendry if he wasn’t willing to bend over backwards to make her happy. (Almost literally, in one instance—that book from Lys was really quite something.)

He lay there, groggily smiling at her as she slept. As he’d anticipated, Arya’s uncanny ability to know when she was being watched kicked in and she reached out to slap his chest without opening her eyes.

“Stop it, you stupid bull. I’m not fucking you again until I’ve had at least two hours sleep.” She yawned. “Surely you’re completely spent?”

He chuckled. “Aye, and then some, love. You tapped reserves I didn’t know I had but even I have my limits. Will take more than two hours for me, I suspect.”

One grey eye opened and stared blearily at him. “Then why are you awake?” He kissed her forehead and gently ran a hand through her hair. She leaned into it like a cat, closing her eye again and sighing contentedly. “Oh, I see. You’re being all soft and silly.”

“A man’s entitled to be soft on his first day of married life, if he’s as fortunate as I am and married to the woman he adores.”

Arya made a slight scoffing noise, but he ignored it. He knew it was a pretense and she was as secretly soft as him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve made you the happiest of men I know. You can tell me all about it in a few hours after we both get some sleep, Ser Stupid.”

“As m’lady commands.” As expected, she let out an irritated huff.

“Must you? In our marriage bed, of all places?”

With a fond grin, he kissed her crown again. “Alright, sweetheart. Anything m’lady wife wants.”

Her eyes opened at that and she gave him a soft smile. “Now that, I’ll allow. But just this once.”

Gods, he loved her.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a total shift in writing style! This chapter is talk talk talk. But the next chapter should be fight fight fight. And then a final chapter of kiss kiss kiss happy ending!

Gendry and Arya enjoyed their time as newlyweds—obnoxiously so, to those whose chambers were close to theirs—but eventually the reality of the situation was unignorable, even to a pair as sickeningly in love as they were. Because no one could ignore dragons.

Daenerys Targaryen had taken control of Dragonstone. With her three giant bloody dragons _. Dragons!_ Gendry found it all hard to believe, but Bran had warned them of what was to come for once. So it was no shock when they received a raven carrying a summons to meet the “rightful ruler of Westeros.” They’d planned for this, after all.

Jon would go as Lord of Winterfell and he’d bring Davos with him. The old smuggler essentially acted as Jon’s Hand, which Arya had confided in Gendry gave her enormous peace of mind. (“I love him, Gendry, I really do. But sometimes Jon makes the _worst_ decisions.”)

Bran ‘suggested’ that Arya go with them, as he felt that she had a pivotal role to play. At this, Gendry immediately announced to the group he was going, too. Arya had turned to argue with him but caught herself and sighed instead.

“I brought this upon myself by marrying you, didn’t I.”

“Aye, you did m’lady wife. Where you go, I go. Until the end of our days.”

She rolled her eyes at that, but fondly.

Gendry fought the urge to fidget as a pretty young woman with dark hair rattled off a lengthy list of titles as a pretty young woman with light hair stared down at them from her throne. Then he fought the urge to laugh as Davos, unawed, introduced Jon. (“This is Jon. Er…He’s Lord of Winterfell.”)

“So, Lord Stark,” the Targaryen said coolly. Now, Gendry liked his women scary and deadly but something about Daenerys made the back of his neck itch. “Have you come to bend the knee?” she drawled.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jon answered politely, doing just that. “I come to pledge my support, to make an offer, and to beg your assistance.”

Daenerys arched an eyebrow at this. “Go on, then.”

“I, Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North do offer my fealty to you, Daenerys Targaryen, rightful Queen of Westeros. Regardless of anything else, let that be clear.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at that, and Gendry’s neck itched even more. “It is clear.”

“I understand that Your Grace needs the support of Lords from all over Westeros. I have the authority to offer you not just fealty from the North, but also the Vale, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands.”

“I see. I imagine there are conditions for this support?”

Jon met her stare dead on, and Gendry was impressed by the man’s balls. “In a manner of speaking, Your Grace.”

“Do explain, pray tell.”

“We welcome anyone who can help Westeros solve its most urgent problem. But that problem is not Cersei Lannister.”

This Daenerys’ eyebrows were almost as expressive as Arya’s. (She wasn’t nearly as pretty, though, in Gendry’s opinion.)

“There is a greater threat from beyond the Wall that threatens all of us, all of mankind in fact,” Jon went on. “We need your help to defeat this threat. You, your army, and your dragons.”

“What threat is this?” the little man Gendry assumed was Tyrion Lannister asked. Because honestly, who else could it be?

“The Others; the White Walkers,” Jon said simply. “The stories are true. Winter is coming, and with it is an enormous army of the dead that seeks to bring endless night.” Daenerys looked puzzled, and Tyrion whispered in her ear for a few minutes. Summarizing the legends, Gendry figured. He hadn’t heard of them either, and he actually grew up in Westeros.

“I see,” Daenerys said at last with a sigh. “You offer me the support of half the lords of Westeros, but only if I can defeat a mythical monster. It seems you have set me up to fail, Lord Stark.” Uh oh. This did not seem to be going well. Gendry fought to keep his face impassive, and he sensed Arya bite her tongue to keep from jumping in.

“No, your grace,” Jon insisted. “I give you an opportunity to be a hero and save countless lives.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes at that and again Gendry was struck by how he preferred it when Arya did that. “I will already be a hero when I take back my throne and break the wheel. I find your fairy stories frustrating, Lord Stark, and you I find disappointing. Perhaps I should feed you and your party to my children for wasting my time?” Gods, Gendry hoped she was joking.

Arya clearly didn’t find it funny. “Jon informed many, many people before he left that he’d be bending the knee, _your grace,_ ” she snapped. “If you kill him, or us, they will be suspicious of why you’d execute those who pledge you their support. You’ll never win them over then.”

Gendry willed his heart to stop pounding. Things were actually still going according to their plan. But it was hard to be reasonable when a terrifyingly beautiful woman was threatening to feed you and your wife and good brother to a bloody dragon! Because this Daenerys did not seem to be pleased at the way they’d cornered her; if she killed those who’d already professed loyalty to her she’d seem exactly like the crazy Targaryens everyone was worried about. And Gendry had a hunch that she was not the type of woman to appreciate being cornered.

“You must believe me, your grace…” Jon started to plead but Arya stepped forward.

“Don’t waste your breath, Jon. You’re not going to persuade her.” Gendry’s wife faced the queen head on, hands folded behind her back in perfect calmness. 

“Your grace, I’ve two things that might change your mind: a promise and a secret.”

The blonde woman arched her eyebrow at Arya, seemingly impressed by her poise. “And who might you be exactly?”

Arya nodded towards Jon. “His sister. Arya Stark.” Now it was Tyrion’s eyebrows that arched. Gendry figured he’d assumed she was dead just like everyone else had. “I, Arya Stark of Winterfell, promise to kill Cersei Lannister for you and deliver the city of King’s Landing without a fight if you help us. And since I already know that you don’t believe I can do that, let’s jump ahead to the secret.” She pulled a sealed scroll from her belt and passed it to the dark-haired woman, who skeptically passed it on to her queen. “Read that, your grace. Probably best if you don’t read it aloud, though.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes at the presumption but cut through the seal with quite a nice little dagger. (Gendry hoped he’d get a better look at it at some point.) Looking bored, her eyes quickly scanned the message there. Gendry saw the exact moment where she realized this was no normal note: she paled, her hands starting shaking, and she looked almost afraid. The fear didn’t last long, though, quickly giving rise to anger.

“What sorcery is this?!” she demanded as she stood, clutching the scroll with both hands. “How have you pried into my past in such a way? I’ve never told ANYONE what happened then.” She seemed positively enraged.

Arya didn’t even blink (though Gendry blinked enough for her). “It is not sorcery, your grace. Our brother, Brandon Stark, has become something he calls the Three-Eyed Raven, a greenseer who can use the power of Westeros’ weirwoods to see that which has happened and that which is happening and that which will happen. He can see your past as clearly as you can see me now.” She reached into her belt and pulled out two more scrolls; these were smaller. She passed them along as well: one for the dwarf and one for the other woman. They each opened their messages and the same shock and fear was visible on their faces in short order.

“Your grace, there is no possible way that anyone could possibly know this! It’s just not possible! It’s… impossible!” Tyrion assured her. “Someone would have needed to see this event in person to describe it as such, and I know there was no one else present who still lives.” The woman with the dark hair was too shaken to talk, but she nodded her agreement with the little man, who was still going on about what wasn’t possible. Surely an educated man like him knew more words than that, Gendry thought.

Daenerys sat down suddenly, the anger knocked right out of her. “So your magical brother can magically confirm all that you are telling me about this…army? The white…what was it? Oh, yes. The white walkers?” She sounded incredibly tired. Gendry didn’t blame her; she’d sailed to Westeros expecting to fight Lannisters and now she was being asked to fight mystical forces beyond human understanding.

“Yes, your grace,” Arya said simply. “His visions of the future are cloudier, but he has seen all the past attempts of the Night King to destroy man and knows that he will soon make his greatest foray yet. I’ve another message from him with more details, if you’d like?” Her hand hovered near her belt, but the queen just waved it away with a slightly sickened look.

“Not now, Lady Arya. I believe we’ve heard quite enough from Brandon Stark at present. Now I need time to talk to my advisors and consider all that you have said.” She straightened her posture. “Let me be sure I have it right: I, my armies, and my dragons are needed to travel north to defeat the Night King and _his_ army of the dead. In exchange, you Starks will give me King’s Landing, Cersei Lannister’s head, and the loyalty of the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands.”

“And the Stormlands,” Davos chimed in, helpfully.

“Oh yes, and the Stormlands,” Daenerys confirmed weakly. She looked at Jon with weary amazement. “I take it back, Lord Stark. You are not disappointing. You are…” she looked around, seeming to search for the right word. Her eyes fell on Tyrion Lannister and she gave a shrug. “You and your party are impossible.”

“Many believe that dragons are impossible, your grace,” Arya said. “Yet there they are.” She waved a hand at the window where they could see the dragons bloody _frolicking_ in the air. Gendry’s stomach swooped as they did. Gods, he hoped this worked.

“What in seven hells was _that_?” Jon asked Arya as soon as they were alone in some room off the throne room. He didn’t sound angry, just shocked. Gendry understood. Arya had insisted that Jon not know the full plan; she didn’t think he’d approve of manipulating people this way. Too bloody honorable.

“Seems to have worked though, right?” Davos said with a grin. He was just as surprised, but happily so. (He’d despaired to Gendry over the difficulty of their task on the boat ride over.) “She may need to talk with her advisors still, but they’re on board. How could they not be? We’re givin’ her everything she’s ever bloody wanted. And if she wants to have a kingdom left to rule, she needs to help us first.”

“It was all Gendry’s idea!” Arya proclaimed proudly. But he just stammered and blushed.

“She’s flattering me,” he insisted to Jon and Davos. “My idea was to bring Bran along and have him do his whole weird seery thing in front of ‘em all. Arya was the one who figured we’d didn’t need to haul your poor brother all this way.” Arya just rolled her eyes at his modesty and Jon clapped him on the back.

“Good work, the two of you,” the dark-haired man said with a small smile. But then he froze. “Wait… what is all this about you killing Cersei Lannister?”

Arya waved his concerns away. “I’ve been talking with Ser Jaime and Bran; we have a plan. Actually, we have seven plans and an additional nine contingencies. This is what I’ve been preparing for since that day in King’s Landing when Father lost his head. I _will_ have my revenge.” Gendry patted her on the back reassuringly. He had no doubts about his wife; he was afraid for her, certainly, but he trusted her skill and wit. She’d given up so much of her Kill List; she truly deserved this one. And Cersei truly deserved to be killed.

“She’s not going to King’s Landing until after the war in the North,” Gendry reassured Jon. “And she won’t be goin’ alone.”

Jon just shook his head in weary frustration. “You say ‘after the war in the North’ like it’s certain that we will win.”

Now it was Gendry’s turn to shrug. “If we don’t, Arya breakin’ her promise to the Dragon Queen won’t exactly be our biggest problem.”

The Warden of the North brooded on that. (By the seven, he was a good brooder!) “That is true. Very well. We must continue to deal with things as they come. Thank you, Arya & Gendry. I believe you’ve been a tremendous help.”

Jon spoke truly: Daenerys accepted their offer (although she made them wait for an answer and even then acted like this was all her idea; Gendry chalked it up to her Targaryen pride). Jon and his advisors quickly began making plans with the queen and her advisors based on Bran’s information. Gendry was initially spared so that he could look into the issue of dragonglass: its mining and shipment had continued even after Stannis’ death but had been stopped once Dragonstone had a new ruler. Fortunately, it seemed like it would be very easy to get things started again and what’s more, the foreman for the task had some very interesting cave drawings he’d been eager to show someone who might understand them. Gendry later brought everyone else to see them and he could tell that it further convinced the queen that she’d made the right choice.

“Did you see the way Daenerys looks at Jon?” Arya gleefully whispered to Gendry as they all headed from the caves back up to the keep. Of course she’d have the cheek to call the woman with _three ruddy dragons_ by her first name. He just hoped she wouldn’t do so to the woman’s face; even Arya wasn’t _that_ reckless, right?

“Is it anything like the dopey looks Jon’s been givin’ her?” Gendry replied. “The man’s mooning for her like a little lad after a shiny toy.”

“Now, _she’s_ looking at him like he’s something she wants to devour. Mother of dragons indeed. You should talk to Jon, give him some advice for dealing with women. He can’t have had too much practice in the Night Watch…”

Gendry shook his head vigorously. “Oh no, m’lady wife. That’s a command I’ll not be obeyin.’ There’s only so much you can ask of a man. Jon and I pretend that you and I don’t fuck, and I prefer to keep things that way.”

“What will you do when I’m with child? Convince Jon that it’s a miracle from the Mother?”

His eyes must have bulged out at that. “Whaddaya mean, ‘with child’? You don’t mean us havin’ a baby, do you?!?”

Arya laughed at his shock. “Of course I do! One day, that is. Not anytime soon. First we have to defend Westeros and then we have to kill Cersei. Then I want us to travel a bit. But one day I’d like to be a mother. And that requires you being a father.”

A _baby_. Him, a _father_. Gendry had never really thought about fatherhood, except as an abstract reason to wait until they were wed to have sex. He’d never had a father; how would he know what to do? What if he was terrible at it? What if he was so bad at it that it made Arya hate him and she left him!?! What if Jon married the Dragon Queen and an angry Arya had him served up as dragon food!? What if his kid hated him like he hated his father?

Arya must have sensed his panic because she wrapped her arms around him. “Relax, stupid. Just remember what Jon said. We will deal with things as they come. And that won’t come for a while.”

Gendry thanked the new and old gods alike for that. Suddenly, neither an army of the dead nor a trio of dragons seemed quite so terrifying. A _baby_. Him, a _father_.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a general story arch that is a whole timeline where Arya doesn't leave Westeros but still ends up kicking ass and stabbing assholes, with a doting Gendry at her side. And maybe some bad decisions and bad juju from later seasons get averted. 
> 
> (Yes, the title is from Puppy Love by the Osmonds which is one of the worst, cheesiest songs ever written.)


End file.
